


Conductor of Light

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Author's Brain Is Wired Oddly, Baddies, Battle, Feeding, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, Love, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, POV John Watson, Personality Divergence, Rough Sex, Self-Sacrifice, Sex, Sexual Identity, Some Graphic Description Could Be Too Much For Some, Soul Bond, Unexpected Allies, Vampires, Violence, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is living a dreary life once more now that Sherlock Holmes is gone...that is until today when he comes home from work to a very unexpected surprise.</p><p>Not your average vampire fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visitor

Clicking down the street John Watson tried to ignore how much his hand hurt from gripping his cane. He hated that cane. It symbolized so much failure in John’s life and the fact that he hadn’t needed it for almost two years made using it again even more loathsome. He needed to get out of town, he’d felt the urge to _just go_ for months now but where? He had no money saved. His hip ached day and night now, his shoulder was worse than ever, and ongoing insomnia was seriously affecting John. He was hearing voices these days too. Well, one voice, one particular voice, and John could swear it was calling his name, it sounded urgent and demanding, impatient and insistent. It was driving him around the bend because John _knew_ that voice would never call his name again, that voice would never badger him with a thousand infantile requests. He knew it.

John sensed there was someone in the flat the second he pulled the door from the street open. There was a subtle change in the air, something he never would have noticed two years ago but after struggling to keep 221 B Baker Street as his home his crippling work schedule wouldn’t allow him to entertain visitors often so small changes were highly obvious. Sliding his cane in the umbrella stand John crept up silently up the stairs and pushed the door open.

There was a man sleeping on the sofa wrapped in a long ragged trench coat but the second the door swung wide the man’s eyes flew open and he was up and standing on his feet, a wary look on his face. John shook his head. If he was a thief he was the worst one in the world, if he was a junkie just looking for a place to crash John would check him over before calling the police to haul him away. The man looked too alert to be high, even if he did seem to be incredibly tired. He held himself in a way that told John that he wasn’t visibly armed but he was dangerous. Well, so was John. A stranger had breached the sanctity of his home and that really pissed John off, “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

The man was tall, as tall as Sherlock had been. Just thinking his friend’s name made John’s heart hurt but since it did that so often John paid the pang no mind and focused on the stranger in his home. He was fit but almost gaunt. His ginger hair was short but rumpled as if he was used to wearing it even shorter but it had grown out and was untended. The man’s eyes were pale blue but intense and he looked worn out, exhausted. John almost jumped when the man raised his hands but he just scrubbed the stubble on his face with them and asked wearily, “You John Watson?” His voice was clear and almost lilting, like he’d had an accent a long time ago but it had worn away to near nothingness.

John wasn’t sure he should answer that. “Yes I am. Who are you?"

“Are you the same John Watson the _John Hamish Watson_ that used to work with Sherlock Holmes?” The man’s voice was hoarse and rough as if he were drained. John’s heart gave a cruel pulse when he heard his late friend’s name spoken to him for the first time in two years.

“Yes, now again, who are you?” John was getting very upset. A stranger was in his house! How had he gotten in? The man had used the Union Jack pillow too; it was on the opposite side from where it usually lived and for some reason that enraged the soldier further. “You’ve got one second to tell me who the fuck you are and why I shouldn’t call the police to have you arrested.”

The tall man just sank down back onto the sofa, “Thank god. Thank god. We weren’t sure you’d still be here.” _We who?_ The man scrubbed his hands over his face again as if trying to wake himself up, “My name is Sebastian Moran. I’ve been sent to fetch you Doctor Watson. I can give you a day at most to get your business sorted out but where I’ve been asked to bring you is remote and I can’t say when we’ll be back but it is imperative that you come, and as soon as humanly possible.”

John looked at the man who seemed to be at the end of his rope, “Listen, I don’t know you. I can’t leave my home and work behind to go traipsing off with some stranger who broke into my flat! Why would I?”

The tall man stood again and dug into his coat pocket. He pulled out something that was in a plastic grocery bag, bundled up and twisted shut as well as a very heavy envelope, “Just look, alright?”

John accepted the bag warily. Untwisting it to open it John gasped and staggered back. There was a scarf rolled up in it. A very distinctive and very well remembered blue scarf that John’s best friend had worn the same day he’d thrown himself from a building in front of John and ended both their lives. “How did you get this? He was buried with it. _He was buried with it!”_ John felt so much anger and rage all of a sudden that he shook with it. He felt such grief and such regret. He’d missed the signs that should have told him his friend was in danger, he’d watched as the most important person in his life had snuffed himself out, he’d survived to witness his brilliant friend’s reputation go up in flames until practically no one remembered there’d ever been Sherlock Holmes in the world. John realized he had the scarf to his face, his eyes heavy with tears. It smelled like Sherlock, _oh god it smelled just like him_! How long had it been since John had hugged his best friend, clapped him on the back, forced him to eat a sandwich, or made him tea? John missed Sherlock so much but Sherlock was dead and John knew that for a fact.

“It was given to me by the person who needs you. It’s incentive to come. There’s money in the envelope, enough to settle your rent for the next while as well as your other bills. You’ll need to quit your job or go on extended leave. Now that I’ve found you there is very little time to waste. We need to go Doctor Watson. Sort your things out; we’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

John didn’t understand but the smell of Sherlock was in his nose and the grief that had never really left the doctor welled up so high once again that he worried he was on the verge of a panic attack. John went to the kitchen and stood by the stove, struggling to compose himself. When Sherlock had died John had realized a lot of things about himself and the remorse destroying him as much as mourning the detective had done. John had spent months thinking of everything he should have done for Sherlock, things he’d talked himself out of for what now seemed like completely irrelevant reasons. Perhaps if John had been a bit braver Sherlock wouldn’t have needed to face his demons alone and John could have helped him live or at the very least, died _with_ Sherlock because living without his best friend was gray and dismal.

John considered the demand this Moran character had made. How could John walk away from everything? He thought about his obligations, the demands for his time and John realized he had no exterior life of importance. His old friends had long since moved on with their own lives. His connections with the Yard had lapsed with the exception of Lestrade but he hadn’t even seen the DI in weeks. John worked enough hours at various clinics to keep him busy nearly all the time. He hadn’t dated since before Sherlock had died, though one of the nurses, a woman named Mary, seemed very persistent. She’d asked him out more than once and the last time John had nearly said yes. Still she wasn’t a girlfriend and even if she was would John stay for her? He had no family left. His only sister, Harry, had managed to kill herself at long last, her life-long battle with alcohol finishing with a car accident that had ended the struggle. No one else had died though Clara, Harry’s widow hadn’t fared any better than John had and moved back to the small town she’d grown up in. He hadn’t heard from her since but then, he’d barely heard from them when Harry was alive. John’s parents had passed away while he had been in the army leaving the doctor with precisely no one to care if he lived or died except Mrs. Hudson. John existed solely to keep 221 B Baker Street his home and when he looked inside the envelope John realized he had enough in his hand to pay the rent for the next year if he needed to. He went out to the front, “I’ll need a few hours.”

“I’m just going to sleep here then.” Moran looked to be on the verge of collapsing so John just nodded. Something inside John had decided to just go with things. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t normal to just trust a strange man who showed every sign of being unstable but then, if John wasn’t capable of doing that he’d never have moved in with Sherlock in the first place and never had a chance to experience life with the most amazing man he had ever met. Moran was now his companion, John had a mysterious destination to get to so the doctor put on his coat, “There’s food in the fridge, eat whatever you want. There’s tea in the cupboard and fresh towels in the bathroom. I’ll be back at the end of the afternoon.” Moran had sunk back onto the sofa, feet tucked up and his trench coat over his shoulders. He was asleep before John left.

“John! You’re back from work then? Come have some tea, you look like you could use one.” Mrs. Hudson was always so warm and loving. John didn’t know how he would have gotten through the last two years without her affection and concern.

“Yeah I did a night-shift.” John wasn’t going to hide from the one person whom Sherlock trusted, “There’s a man upstairs. He gave me this and told me I needed to go away with him someplace far. Someone needs me.”

Mrs. Hudson gasped when she saw the scarf, “John! How?”

“I don’t know Mrs. Hudson but I’m going. It’s his scarf. Who could have gotten it? Why would they take it?” John bowed his head for a second before looking up at her. “He’s given me enough money to pay the rent for a long time. Take it. I’m calling all my services and canceling them but I’ll be receiving final bills in the post. Use this money to pay them out. I’ll keep my mobile but I just don’t know if I’ll be able to call or text but you can at least leave messages on it. Keep paying that for me, please. I’ll contact you if I can but I just want you to know it could be weeks or even months before you hear from me again.”

Mrs. Hudson was red-eyed and sad looking but she patted John’s hand, “I’ll make you a snack John, you’ve got a lot to do.” She fed him a small meal and began to cook for the stranger upstairs after John told her how exhausted the man seemed, “Poor dear, well you both need a hot meal and a cuppa. Off you go John.”

John spent the rest of the afternoon quitting his various jobs after he made his service calls. He could have just called them in but since he was leaving so abruptly he felt it only manners to at least tell them in person, “A personal situation has come up, I have to leave soon. I’m very sorry.” Most places took it well enough because John was an excellent doctor. He was coming back to Baker Street when he realized Mary would never know what happened to him. Should he text her? She wasn’t a friend. Deciding she’d just have to live with the mystery as well as certain that the gossipers would just tell her he’d left for personal reasons John tucked his mobile away and continued on home.

Moran was sitting at the kitchen table finishing off the plate of food Mrs. Hudson had obviously brought up. He was showered and shaved but dressed in the same clothes, “I need to pack.” said John, skipping the niceties of greetings.

“Warm clothes then, something good for damp, side-arm as well. You’ve been asked to bring one thing, something called a Strad?”

John hadn’t seen Mycroft since the week after the funeral when the taller man had tried to come take Sherlock’s things away for disposal. John had gone spare and punched Mycroft so hard the tall man had nearly blacked out. A shouted argument filled with ugly words and accusations from both sides, the only time John had ever seen the ice-cold diplomat lose his temper, resulted in John keeping Sherlock’s things, _everything_ , and telling Mycroft to never darken his door again. Sherlock owned nothing from the Holmes estate, he’d always refused to. Sherlock’s violin had been a childhood gift from their parents and Mycroft would never be able to take it from John. He couldn’t leave it here and expect to find it still here when he came home, whenever that was, “I’ll pack it too.”

John went to his room and pulled out his duffle bag. He had suitcases but he felt for this journey something a little more practical and rugged would most likely be useful. Filling it efficiently John got himself ready to depart. The violin was packed into its hard case along with the bow, rosin, and all of the packets of extra strings. John then went down and showered as well, changing into fresh clothes that were a bit loose, sturdy, and stain resistant, excellent for traveling in. When he was shaved and groomed as well John examined 221 B one last time and presented himself for departure. “Mrs. Hudson will close the flat properly.” she’d promised to clean out John’s fridge and take care of everything while he was gone. “We can go.”

“You didn’t fight this at all.” remarked Moran.

“Did you expect me to?” the man didn’t seem to have an answer so he just shrugged and led his way out to the foyer downstairs. John rapped on Mrs. Hudson’s door, “I’m leaving now.” she hugged him tight and he kissed her cheek, “I’ll contact you when I can. Stay well Mrs. Hudson.”

“I will John. Go. Have an adventure. Home will be waiting for you.” she smiled tearily up at him and he hugged her one last time before turning away and walking off without a backward glance.

Moran was on the street and he flagged down a cab to take them to the train station. “I’ve got a car waiting for the next leg.” He wasn’t a talker. John had a lot of questions but the man was so tired he decided to wait until they were driving to ask them and let Moran nap on the train. Sitting across from him John really examined Sebastian Moran. He was military, or ex-military. His fingers were callused in a way that let John know he had competence with guns, likely a sniper. His skin was dark though his flesh was naturally pale, a heavy tan that had partially faded. His face was lined and his chin was already covered with a light haze of stubble. He wasn’t unattractive but John didn’t trust this person, whoever he was. Still, that was Sherlock’s scarf and to anyone else it might seem too small a thing to ever be convinced by. Whatever connection there was to be found via that scarf was to be sought, no matter the cost.

In just a bit over two hours they were in a different country and walking briskly to an underground car park where Moran got John to stow his luggage in the boot. After stopping for coffee and food they could eat while Moran drove they left the large city they’d arrived in behind and began to motor down a broad freeway. “Your mobile have GPS? Disable it.”

John checked it out of habit but it was unchanged, “I deactivated the GPS a long time ago. Someone used to be a bit too nosy.” John had changed his mobile, going through Mrs. Hudson to obtain a new one so Mycroft couldn’t contact him without a lot of bother, not that it would be hard for him. John just needed to make the gesture so Mycroft understood with greater clarity how unwelcome he was in the soldier’s presence. John wanted nothing more to do with Sherlock’s older brother. He’d been a treacherous part of the whole debacle that ended with Sherlock’s death and John would never forgive him. Lestrade had tried to patch things up between the two of them time and time again, but John wasn’t going to soften just because the two of them lived together now. If Greg wanted to be in a relationship with a man willing to give his own brother up to a lunatic it was on his own head. To be extra sure John just removed the chip and tossed it out the window.

“You may as well sleep while you have the chance. We’ll be on the road for a good while.” John nodded. He understood that. He’d been in the army a long time and every soldier knew to get his head down whenever there was an opportunity. John balled up his coat to use as a pillow and made himself go to sleep. It was full dark when the smooth highway that had run beneath their boxy car ended and a dirt road began. John woke with a start, “Still a while to go but not too bad, the drive gets rougher in the middle.

The dirt road got narrower and became a risky looking mountain switch-back with hair-pin turns and steep grades. Suddenly the road became wide and nearly smooth again, packed down and nearly as hard as the asphalt that was far in the valley below them. Moran drove silently, the view disappearing as they pushed into a dark forest that was so black even the brightness of their headlights could hardly pierce it. After an hour of winding back and forth Moran was driving them across a broad stone bridge that had moss growing from the cracks of the walls. The dirt road had been replaced with cobble and they bumped and rattled their way for a few more minutes before entering what seemed to be a tunnel made of gray stones that had been crudely shaped before being placed, “Where are we?”

Moran said nothing. He parked the car and opened the boot to toss John his bag. “Come on.”

It was icy cold and so dark John couldn’t make out more than the fact that they were surrounded by more gray stone. The blocks were squared off and different sizes, all of it seemed old and on the verge of crumbling. Moran had a torch and its dim yellow light revealed an exit, “Stairs, we’ll need to climb for a bit. Tell me if you need a break.”

He lost track of time. It was perhaps half an hour of climbing upward, crossing empty stone hallways to get to different entrances and climbing more and more stairs before they were in a vast room hung with dark heavy drapes on every wall. It wasn’t until they’d stopped climbing that John realized he’d left his cane in London and hadn’t noticed. The room was ornate, extravagant and as cold as the outside. “Wait here.” Moran pointed to a portion of the room that featured a large fireplace. There was wood and several pieces of well-made furnishings placed in front of it. “Start a fire if you want.”

It was so late and John was exhausted and chilled. He went over and after putting his bag and Sherlock’s violin on a long low table he set to starting the fire. Everything he needed was at the ready so it didn’t take long before there was a large and very comforting blaze roaring away. With a deep sigh John sat back on one of the plush chairs and fell asleep. It had been a very long day and one short nap wasn’t enough.

John woke at dawn in very large canopied bed and no idea how he’d gotten there. The bed was in a large room that also featured a fireplace with a small sofa in front of it. The fire was crackling almost merrily, the snap of the wood and flames almost a roar compared to the silence everywhere else. John sat up. He was in his shirt and pants but all the rest of his clothes seemed to be folded into a pile on a chair near the fire, his boots set on a drying rack even though they hadn’t been damp. The floor was icy so John was grateful for his warm footwear when he re-dressed quickly and found an unpleasantly old-fashioned bathroom to use.

It was essentially a small stone room with a large shower compartment curtained off, and an ornately carved wooden seat on a stone shelf that jutted out from the otherwise sheer wall of the fortress they were in. When John lifted the lid he had a moment of vertigo when he saw the toilet open up over a vast nothing. The stone walls dropped straight down. There was fog at the bottom so John had no idea how far up they’d driven and then climbed. When he came back out John saw his duffle as well as the violin, and now there was also a covered tray on the hearth. When John lifted the heavy lid he saw a large breakfast and steaming hot tea waiting for him. Examining it quickly with eyes as well as a wary nose John decided it was really just eggs and bacon so he ate it all up and enjoyed the tea.

A knock on the door brought him to his feet and Moran walked in. He looked slightly better now, not as exhausted, “Done? Come on then.”

“Where are we going? Why am I here? Where is this place?” Moran wasn’t saying anything. He just walked away from John and kept going so the doctor ended up needing to chase after him. Moran led him to the same large room John had seen the night before and left him there without a word of explanation. John didn’t know what to do so he sat down on the sofa and looked around.

The room was cold even with large drapes that had covered floor to ceiling windows. They were open now but there seemed to be a dense fog outside. John couldn’t see anything. The fire John had built had warmed the stones in the immediate region but everywhere else still felt icy. His skin nearly tingled when he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. A voice drifted from out of sight, a single word. “ _John_.”

John leapt up. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. He was imagining things again. The doctor stared around wildly, trying to discern where the voice had come from. “Who are you?” John was angry and upset. If this was a joke it was a horrible one.

It was a moment before the voice was heard again. John closed his eyes in pain as he listened to those rich vowels, that timbre, that hidden rumble that he had not heard in years, “John, _please_. This isn’t easy. You must be steady.”

A figure came out of the gloom of one corner, a tall thin man with wild black hair, pale white skin, and eyes that nearly burned with intensity. John fell to his knees, “Sherlock.”

“John. Oh god John. It’s you, it’s really you.” the tall man stopped walking, his hand thrown out in front of him as if to stop something or someone but he was all the way across the room from John. “John…I’m sorry.”

“Sherlock? How is this possible? Is it really you? Sherlock I watched you die. _You died_. I buried you.” John’s eyes were filling with agonized tears. He’d gone to the morgue and wept over Sherlock’s body, cradled it to him and felt the warmth leave it. _Sherlock was dead_. His body had broken on the pavements, his blood had splashed, and John still had the jumper that had been soaked in his best friend’s blood as he’d wailed out his grief in the basement of St. Bart’s.

“I did.” Sherlock’s voice was a sigh filled with regret and terrible longing, “John, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry Sherlock? How can you be sorry? You’re dead. How are you here? How is this happening?” John’s entire reality was fracturing. It was Sherlock from head to toe, he could smell him, even from this distance, that deep perfume that he always seemed to emanate, that rich complex scent that always reminded John of the spice markets.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice was mournful, “John, I’m so sorry but I need you and I need you right this second.”

“Sherlock?” John was confused and then terrified because Sherlock was no longer all the way across the room. He was suddenly mere inches in front of John. How had he moved so quickly, why was his face so troubled and so beautiful at the same time? John’s eyes took in the face that had meant so much to him, the face that he’d missed so endlessly. Sherlock looked agonized, reluctant, and strangely eager at the same time.

“John I’m sorry but I need you, I need this.” John found himself being crushed to Sherlock’s chest, his head wrenched to the side. Terror like he’d never experienced jolted him from head to toe, “John, _forgive me_.” John screamed louder than he’d ever screamed before as he felt his throat being torn, felt blood rushing out, heard almost orgasmic moans and a horrific slurping sound by his ear as Sherlock chewed and sucked on him. John could feel Sherlock’s teeth, blunt and inadequate but still savage enough and the soldier tried to scream again.

The tall man’s arms pinioned John, and though John kicked as hard as he could Sherlock didn’t budge at all except to lick and bite until John was sagging in his arms, weak with blood-loss and shock. The pain was so intense he could feel the rest of his body ache in sympathy for the remorseless attack on his neck and he began to shut down. Sherlock was almost growling but the pleasure in his voice was unmistakable. The soldier knew was dying. John heard his name being crooned tenderly in the distance, tasted something on his lips, something rich like honey but the aftertaste was bitter like metal. John felt his body fall back but Sherlock was crouched over him, his mouth was on John’s, and that thick sweet flavor was trickling down John’s throat. Something was nuzzling at his neck and he heard a lapping sound, then Sherlock’s voice purred out the words with intense satisfaction, “ _my John_.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI in this head movie the character of Sebastian Moran shall be performed by Michael Fassbender because in my Mind Palace he's always Sebby <3


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson has left London to follow Sebastian Moran to an unknown location. The welcome John received was not what he expected, not at all.

To his complete surprise John woke in bed again but this time Sherlock was beside him, fast asleep, almost face down in his pillow, a smear of dried blood on his lips. John froze where he was and stared at the man next to him. He looked sweet and innocent, his thick lashes fanned on his cheeks, and his curls an elegant riot. If it weren’t for the dark red stain on his mouth the doctor would almost be willing to believe that the whole thing had been just a nightmare but surely there was evidence. John’s hand smacked against his neck where he’d been savaged but there was nothing but undamaged flesh now. John felt strange, like his eyes were opened too widely, or like he was straining to hear too hard, and then he noticed his heart was off. It was beating loudly in his chest but there was a strange echoing quality to it. He felt lethargic and panicked at the same time John’s eyes darted to the man next to him and he realized they were both bare-naked and that Sherlock’s hand was circling one of John’s wrists firmly. John was shouting before he could think, “ _WHAT THE FUCK SHERLOCK LET ME GO YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE WHAT THE HELL!_ ”

John felt like his shoulder was going to dislocate when he yanked his arm out of Sherlock’s grip to get away, or attempted to, Sherlock’s hand didn’t budge a jot though his eyes opened slowly, dreamily. It was almost monstrous for a fleeting instant but suddenly all of John’s terror fueled anger was gone as he became lost in the overwhelming beauty of Sherlock’s gaze. The soldier had never properly noticed the blue and green sea of Sherlock’s eyes, the dash of amber that sat like a jewel in his iris. John was mesmerized, riveted, he never wanted to stop looking into those magnificent eyes. The dark haired man was smiling at John, his face drowsy and content looking, “John.” he whispered, his voice filled with longing and something else that made John’s hair stand on end. Suddenly John found himself beneath Sherlock who had moved so fast John had barely seen him shift. Sherlock sat astride John, his legs spread wide as the tall thin man began to rock and rut against him. He was hot and hard and very clear about what he wanted, “ _My John_.” The tall man’s voice was dark and sibilant now; his cock sliding against John’s boldly, the heat of it shocking in the cold of the room.

The soldier snapped out of his trance. _What was going on?_ John struggled furiously for a whole two seconds before Sherlock leaned down sinuously and kissed him. The second their lips pressed together John’s entire body exploded with nerve melting pleasure and his arms wrapped around Sherlock to keep him as close as possible, Sherlock’s lips were full and warm; they fit perfectly against John’s.  The soldier could feel every drop of blood in him simply vibrate with delight, all his nerve endings tingling as he cried out with Sherlock, his legs now tight around Sherlock’s, John’s fingers tangled in Sherlock’s hair as the not-late detective kissed him over and over again murmuring John’s name ecstatically. He wasn’t interested in struggling any longer; he needed more, so much more of Sherlock. This was what John wanted, what his regretful dreams had been filled with, this was everything John had never thought to have after he’d lost Sherlock, “Oh god yes!” _Yes, a thousand times yes_.

Sherlock’s body was hard and lean, and the way he twisted and moaned wantonly beneath John’s curious hands was addictive and maddening. His skin was soft and smooth, his mouth sweet and hungry. Sherlock kissed him over and over again, teasing him until John bit Sherlock’s lower lip so hard it bled and then Sherlock’s kisses became demanding. John spread his knees and braced his feet on the bed before lifting his hips, dragging the heaviness of his cock against Sherlock’s inner thigh, near that perfectly shaped behind that John finally had beneath his fingers. They both groaned and Sherlock shifted so John’s cock was suddenly trapped between the two of them. Sherlock pressed their bellies together and with deliberation began to move sinuously once again.

John had never experience instant arousal like this, each kiss drove him further and further into an animal state, filled with only need and nothing else. He’d never wanted someone so much. When John was hard and leaking Sherlock spread his own legs wide once again and suddenly John was shouting as Sherlock Holmes, the supposedly _dead_ but clearly _alive_ Sherlock Holmes took hold of John’s cock to line it up, not hesitating at all as he impaled himself on John savagely. John thrust upward into a heat so tight it was painful, the dry constriction should have deterred him but it didn’t. If anything it made the pleasure excruciatingly good, “Sherlock!” he moaned.

Sherlock’s hands were splayed across John’s chest, his eyes heavy-lidded as his hips rose and fell with difficulty. John could only groan and grip Sherlock’s narrow hips to move him at a slightly better angle, his fingers digging into the plush flesh of Sherlock’s behind. John could feel his body ready itself, god it was happening so fast! He hadn’t gotten off this quickly since he’d been a teen! He wanted to _make love_ , to draw it out, to watch Sherlock rise slowly to bliss, that’s how his fantasies had always been shaped. John tried to slow, tried to pull away but Sherlock only rode him harder, their bodies both resisting and giving in at the same time, “Say you’ll be mine forever John, promise me forever and mean it. _Say it John_!” Sherlock was gasping and shuddering as he stuttered out the words.

John had tasted life without Sherlock and it had not been sweet. It had been bitter and empty. Fingers digging deeper John let his answer come freely, “Yes! Forever Sherlock, I promise. I swear. I want to be with you forever. _I want to be with you until the end of time_!” John didn’t know where the words came from, he hadn’t consciously chosen them but they felt right.

Sherlock’s voice was shattered but he forced the words out, “I promise to be yours and yours alone John Hamish Watson, forever. _Eternity is ours_.” John had never slept with a man before, had no idea Sherlock even knew about sex, had thought his best friend was dead but right then he wasn’t thinking of anything but how incredible it felt to be inside Sherlock, how right it felt, how proper, and with an almost agonized groan John began to orgasm. His back arched when his cock jerked in a hard throb as he emptied himself deep inside Sherlock, “Yes John, yes, oh yes, that’s it, that’s what I need, _oh god yes_.” John felt a small hot jolt trickle across his stomach and realized Sherlock was coming as well and with a roar John shoved upward one last time before collapsing backward in an exhausted daze, his awareness now sharp and focused as the desire that had ruled him faded away. His cock felt sore and rubbed almost raw now that the mindless lust was gone, his body was sticky with come and sweat.

Sherlock abruptly slumped to the side as if all his muscles had stopped working, flopping gracelessly against the pillows, and he seemed to be completely unconscious. His body was flushed and sweat-soaked so weakly the doctor managed to flip the heavy blankets back over him. The room was still icy. Sherlock needed to be cleaned up and John wanted to check him over to make sure he was alright but even as the thought went through his head John’s eyes slammed shut and he was as gone as his lover.

When John woke next Sherlock was as far from him in the bed as he could get and he looked terrified and confused, “John? John where are we? What happened? _Where are our clothes_?” Sherlock was clutching the sheet to him so it was right under his chin, obscuring as much of himself as he could. His eyes were nearly round and his mouth was pressed into a tight line.

John was astounded. Sherlock looked different than he had the night before. The wild sensual creature that had ravished John so eagerly was entirely gone. Now the taller man looked exactly the way he looked the day he had died, his eyes darting around as he searched for facts. There was real fear in Sherlock’s eyes too and it tugged at John, cutting through his shock and he answered honestly, “I don’t know where we are Sherlock, and I’m not exactly sure what happened.”

“John… I’m very sore… _below_.” Sherlock’s face went crimson and he looked like he wanted to run away. The tall man was in pain, obviously trying to control some serious distress, and he looked worried and unhappy.

Now John’s gaze darted away, a little bewildered. He remembered clearly but obviously Sherlock did not, and Sherlock very seldom understood tactfully worded explanations so after taking a moment to gather himself John attempted to clarify, “Well, I’m not exactly sure how you’re going to take this but I was brought here by someone late last night, after I woke up this morning you met me downstairs. It gets a bit weird here, but…well…you bit me in the neck, you bit me really hard! I think you…well…you drank my blood until I passed out but there’s no mark now. I woke up in this bed with you and we kind of…um…well….we kind of had sex...at your insistence…er…you didn’t exactly _ask_.”

Sherlock’s blush had turned into pallor and silence reigned for a long time. He seemed to be struggling with something and he looked like he wanted to be ill. There was a moment of horrified self-denial followed by an intense examination of John’s face. It was eerie being analyzed again, Sherlock reading the truth of John’s words by everything he could see about the soldier. “I assaulted you and then I raped you.” he stated his voice filled with confounded incredulity.

John snapped a bit at that point, the strain of the last couple of days fraying his normally considerate nature, “I wouldn’t call it rape really, I did say yes even if you didn’t ask! It was more of a surprise! I’m actually a bit more upset about you being fucking _dead_ for two years and then _literally_ ripping my throat open the first minute I saw you! Compared to _that_ , a quick fuck was totally okay!” John regretted his words instantly because Sherlock looked sick and shocked.

With voice that sounded ragged and almost uncomprehending Sherlock cried, “John! _Two years_? What do you mean two years? _I died_? I was in London just a while ago…wasn’t I? I feel…I feel very odd John and my downstairs is very, very uncomfortable.” John didn’t want to but he laughed when Sherlock said ‘downstairs’. Sherlock had always been so properly spoken, never crude though he was often very rude. This situation was almost more than John could deal with, he felt like he was losing his mind but a medical issue was at least something he could grasp and for some reason it was just one thing too many.

Sherlock looked mortified and John felt horrible but now that he had started he couldn’t stop laughing hysterically for a moment, his giggle shrill and unstable sounding. _He really_ was _losing his fucking mind!_ John struggled to control himself and explained, “You didn’t prepare yourself and I didn’t realize you were going to…it happened very fast…not that I…well, never mind…I.” John stopped and had to take a breath because he still felt like he wanted to giggle and scream at the same time, “Okay I’m in a lot of shock here Sherlock. Two years ago you killed yourself right in front of me. You threw yourself off the roof of St. Bart’s.  I buried you and I mourned you. You were dead to me as of yesterday and now we’re naked in bed together, you seem to have amnesia and your bum hurts. I’m sorry; I really don’t know how to react.” Maniacal laughter threatened again and John nearly covered his mouth with his hands to stop it but the look on Sherlock’s face froze him.

Sherlock was not dealing well with all the information he’d just been given. He was breathing in shallow gasps and his face was pale. He was shaking a bit and Sherlock’s mouth was turned down, his head shaking with tremors of denial. John wondered for a moment if Sherlock was going to cry because his eyes were turning dangerously red and damp looking. It was obviously a struggle for the younger man and when he whispered, sounding so broken and so lost John’s heart actually hurt, “I’ve never been with anyone before.” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly turned away from John, burying himself beneath the pillows and blankets until he couldn’t be seen, “ _John_.” he said and there definitely were tears involved.

John was aghast! Sherlock had been a virgin and his first time had been ferocious. The younger man clearly didn’t remember anything but Sherlock was still experiencing a lot of turmoil. John began to babble, “Sherlock. I don’t know what to say. You’re my best friend. You are alive in front of me and I can barely believe it’s true. I feel like my brain wants to break. I don’t know why I’m here or where you’ve been, or how any of this is even happening. I don’t know why anything happened the way it happened but god I’m so bloody happy to see you. Shh…I’m so sorry Sherlock, I’m sorry. Please, don’t be upset. I don’t know what to do!”

John’s hand on Sherlock’s shoulder was tentative at first until he felt the full body shuddering of a man desperately weeping and trying with all his might not to and John couldn’t stop himself. He slid right over and pressed himself to Sherlock’s heaving back, his arm locked around his waist, “John.” Sherlock twisted around and hid his face at the crook of John’s neck, hot silent tears sliding down for a long time until they finally dried up and Sherlock was sniffling with embarrassment. John knew Sherlock was not an unemotional machine; he had a right to feel things when he was overwhelmed and clearly he was, and he was also still trying to hide the fact that he’d had a crying jag even though John had been right with him.

“Hey, none of that,” John soothed. He looked around. There was a box of paper tissues on the night-table beside the bed. Looking entirely miserable Sherlock sat up awkwardly and used some before he lay back down, flat on his back for a moment but then he rolled onto his side and pressed tight against John. The soldier held him close and rubbed Sherlock’s back slowly until he could feel Sherlock relax a bit and grow calm. John squeezed him a bit as well and Sherlock finally gave a deep sigh and relaxed completely, “That’s better isn’t it? This is good.” It _was_ good. John felt as soothed as Sherlock as the man calmed under his care. It was strange how natural it felt to hold Sherlock like this, his much larger body still somehow sheltered in John’s arms.

Sherlock nodded and John wondered at everything that was happening. He could barely comprehend the facts of the matter and his head hurt now from all the ups and downs he’d just experienced. Sherlock grew tense again and began to squirm a tiny bit. “John? I…need the lav…Idon’twanttogoalone.” John’s shoulder got very warm and he realized Sherlock was blushing so hard that his neck and shoulders were red. Sherlock was still afraid but not afraid of _John_ , he wanted John to accompany him, to keep him safe.

The soldier’s response was instant, “Well I sure as hell am _not_ letting you get out of sight! Let’s get up, I need the loo too.” John wasn’t as intelligent as Sherlock, not by a long shot but he wasn’t too dim to realize his friend’s return, no matter how bizarre so far, was a huge fucking miracle and after two years of not being able to see him John wasn’t about to let Sherlock out of eyeshot, not even for a call of nature. There were too many bizarre factors involved and no risk could be taken. Who knew what could happen if they were separated? John looked around. His clothes were gone but all his other possessions seemed to be inside a now open wardrobe that he didn’t recall being there earlier. Instead there were oddly cut but heavy robes hanging on a coat-tree by the chamber door so John shrugged himself into one and helped a still flushed Sherlock into the other. He didn’t remember Sherlock being so bashful. There were thick socks rolled up in a pile and the stone floors were cold so they put those on as well. The cold from the stone floors seeped through so John made Sherlock put on a second pair and did the same.

Sherlock was very obviously in a lot of discomfort, and the medieval fixtures didn’t help at all. He sat on the loo and hung his head while John searched the drawers and cupboards for any kind of pain reliever and found nothing at all except some towels, soap, a pair of disposable razors, rather suspiciously and far too late, a large bottle of lubricant. Further searching turned up toothpaste and a pair of toothbrushes, some deodorant but not a thing more. Sherlock needed help up after he was done and John put him in the double-headed shower which was thankfully hot and smelled a bit of sulphur. “A natural hot-spring?” he wondered out loud and Sherlock nodded, “Convenient. I guess we can shower for as long as we want.”

Sherlock turned scarlet again, “You want to shower with me?” Sherlock stood there awkwardly, because as discomfited as he looked John could see that having the doctor join him was exactly what Sherlock wanted and the detective was embarrassed again that his feelings seemed to be controlling him.

John was perfectly willing to rescue his friend’s dignity. “It’s either I leave you here alone which _isn’t_ happening and wait my turn, or since we had sex last night and I’m really fucking cold, I climb in there with you and we both get warm and try to fucking find out what the hell is going on!” John took his socks and robe off and clambered in. Sherlock stood stiffly for a minute, the steaming hot water sluicing off his chest in sheets. John tried to ignore how enticing that was, instead he found a bar of soap and some flannels in a small nook and began to wash himself briskly, keeping everything as neutral as possible. Sherlock stood unmoving for a moment but soon reached for his own flannel and followed suit. The water was scorching hot and even though they had a shower-head each to use Sherlock sidled over until John just pulled him in close and held him in a hug that Sherlock gratefully reciprocated. It might have been strange in another time and place but they were here and now so John let Sherlock rest his head on his, and locked his hands together to keep Sherlock cinched tight.

“How did I die?” the question was asked in a small voice and Sherlock wouldn’t look at John. He kept his face buried in John’s damp hair instead. For his part John felt the twang in his hip again but Sherlock reached down and as soon as his hand was on John’s hip the pain disappeared. In fact John felt better than ever and he covered Sherlock’s hand with his, looking up into his lover’s face.

“You were in the endgame with Moriarty. You tried to lure me back to Baker Street but it didn’t work. You stood on the roof of St. Bart’s and you told me it was all a magic trick. You stepped off and I watched you fall. I didn’t see you land, but I got there only a minute later…they were taking you away already. I... I…wanted to die too.” John looked up at Sherlock, his heart breaking all over again as he re-lived that horrific moment, “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know _why_ it’s happening. All I know is that you’re alive in front of me and whatever happens after this you are never leaving me for any reason ever again. You made me promise you something last night. You made me promise to be yours forever and I did, I promised. You said you’d be mine too, and you said _eternity was ours_.”

Sherlock looked down at John and his face didn’t seem to be registering any emotions but John knew Sherlock very well and understood that he needed time to process everything. Sherlock blinked, “Our hearts are beating in tandem.”

“What?” Sherlock blinked again and put John’s hand on his chest, and then John’s other hand on his own chest, “Feel. Listen.” John did. It was obvious now. Both their hearts hammered in their chests in perfect time with the other. John was certain it hadn’t been that way yesterday.

“That’s impossible. Our bodies are different, they should be slightly off, and no one’s heart beats exactly the same rate! Not _this_ exactly!” They were though. He could feel it beneath his hand and as his heart sped up with the stress of discovery so did Sherlock’s.

“Nonetheless John, we are both observing the phenomena. It seems to be true in our case. John, I can’t even begin to comprehend what is happening here. I don’t remember killing myself. I don’t remember the endgame you speak of. I don’t remember being dead for two years. I don’t even remember the fact that we had sex last night though my posterior is providing ample proof that it happened. I don’t feel right. I don’t feel like myself. I feel… _more_. I don’t know how to explain it but it’s like there’s more of me than there used to be and at the same time, less. Something is very different.”

John understood as soon as Sherlock said it. It was how John had been feeling since he’d woken. Like there was _more_ to perceive but _how_ he did it he couldn’t exactly explain. There was also the sense that something wasn’t there anymore but nothing seemed missing. John was as confused and bewildered as Sherlock, “There’s so many fucking questions I don’t even know where to begin. Maybe that Moran character knows something.”

“Moran? _Sebastian_ Moran? John, how do you know _Sebastian Moran_?” Sherlock sounded both furious and alarmed, shoving John against the shower wall to hiss his question out. Sherlock’s back was arched and if he’d been a cat his hair would have been standing on end with outraged fury.

“Stop it you fucking git! I don’t really know him; he showed up at Baker Street two days ago and gave me your scarf. He had a lot of money and told me someone had sent him to fetch me. He’s the one who left me alone before you showed, and he’s the only other person in this fucking place as far as I can tell.”

Sherlock fell silent and looked abashed, “Apologies John. I…that was uncalled for,” John wasn’t expecting the tall man to lean down and kiss him but Sherlock did and looked as surprised as John with his reaction, “Oh!”

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know John. I didn’t even think. My body just did it.”

“This is too fucking weird.”

“Let’s get dressed and find Moran.”

They got out of the shower and dressed themselves as warmly as they could with what they could find. There were more long fur lined robes in the wardrobe now and wide leather belts. John frowned at them, they hadn’t heard anyone enter the room, but made Sherlock put one on after belting one on himself. It was instantly warm. Soft inside boots were also found; they seemed like long socks with incredibly heavy soles that laced onto their calves, fitting themselves to their feet as if made for them. Once dressed John and Sherlock went out to explore the huge stone structure they found themselves in.

There seemed to be a dim light everywhere now but where it came from John couldn’t see. The corridors were broad and unadorned, the stairs winding and endless. They encounter several empty rooms, simply blank spaces made of the same gray stone that the entire place had been constructed from. Sherlock couldn’t identify it and it bothered him. There was no noise, just the hollow echoes of their footfalls and the hush of their breath. When Sherlock reached over and held John’s hand John didn’t think anything of it and just kept exploring. It seemed fruitless and they found nothing.

The cold wasn’t helping Sherlock’s discomfort at all and walking up and down flights of stairs was aggravating his situation even more so after wandering for what could have been hours they retraced their steps to end back up in the great room. A fire was lit and there was a trolley close by. John lifted the lid covering a large platter and found two hot meals waiting for them. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn the meal came from the take-away down the street from 221 B! When he twitched aside the elegant drapes that ruffled charmingly around the wheeled furnishing he discovered a heavy carafe filled with coffee set on a tray with cups and everything else they would need to have a good meal.

“Where does this come from?” asked Sherlock suspiciously. He was poking his plate but it looked like lo mein and the chicken wings had that distinctive sauce that the owner’s mother made only for her son’s restaurant. Both men looked at each other. It was freshly made and still piping hot like it had just come from the kitchen. Impossible, not in this place!

“I have no idea. This was how I was fed before, it just shows up. It was eggs and toast before.” It tasted just like home and John was amazed to see Sherlock eat every morsel he could get his chopsticks on, “A bit hungry were you?”

There wasn’t a crumb left behind. “Ravenous John, is there anything left?” Sherlock ate everything he could find, the very last bite seeming to be the most he could handle. With a contented sigh he dropped his chopsticks onto his plate and sat back. The carafe was empty as well so John stacked all the dirty dishes together and rolled it all off into a corner, “What now?”

“Now you can come meet the boss.” Sherlock and John whipped around to stare at the man in the doorway. Sebastian Moran was wearing several layers of similar clothing and seemed well-rested now and almost heavier as well, like he’d gained muscle mass overnight, “All done? Let’s go.”

“Wait, Moran, what are you doing here? Why did you bring John here? What is going on?” Sherlock was demanding and furious sounding.

Moran just waited by the door and didn’t answer. After a few seconds he just said, “So? Are you coming? My feet are freezing off, let’s go!”

John sighed and tugged at Sherlock’s sleeve. “If he doesn’t have answers maybe whoever the boss is will have them.”

Sherlock looked down at John, “I’ll give you one guess as to whom Sebastian Moran reports to.”

“Nope. He’s dead. Shot his fucking brains out. I watched them scrape parts of it off the roof.” It was the only piece of satisfaction that John had felt knowing that the psychopath had ended himself, followed by the regret that John couldn’t have done it personally. Moriarty’s body had been donated to the university, as far as John knew it was in small slices all over the place.

“According to you I was also dead and yet here I stand.” John scowled at the floor, not wanting to admit that this potential was actually possible. He’d sealed Sherlock into his casket personally, ruthlessly forcing the funeral home director to allow John to assist. The scarf was the last thing John had placed on Sherlock’s corpse. It was rolled up in the wardrobe now. “I think it’s fair to say that the world isn’t operating on parameters you and I are accustomed to. Clearly something larger is at work, we need information John.”

John huffed out a frustrated sigh, “You’re right. Let’s go.” They were all the way across the room before they realized they were holding hands, “Sherlock?”

“You started it John, I thought you wanted to hold hands, I don’t mind. My fingers are cold.” Sherlock’s hand was indeed cold. John didn’t remember reaching to take his hand but perhaps he had. Their bodies seemed to be doing a lot of things without asking first. Sherlock shivered even though his robes were heavy and covered him down to his ankles. John didn’t seem to be as troubled with the ambient temperature but Sherlock wasn’t handling it as well.

“Fine, but we’re looking for gloves later.” Sherlock’s fingers tightened just a bit and John squeezed back. He’d look for another pair of socks too, anything to buffer Sherlock from the chill. The man hadn’t a spare gram of fat on him, no wonder he was cold.

“Are you two done? Let’s go!” Moran stalked off and John had to race once again to keep up. There was no other way to get answers. John was grim but unafraid. Sherlock was by his side once again and John could deal with anything. They followed Moran into the dim.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not going to be your run-of-the-mill vampire fic. I have some very particular and possibly peculiar ideas about how vampirism shall present itself in my AU. I hope you enjoy it.


	3. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are in a strange place where there's a lot of strange things going on. Someone must know more!

It took a long time and once again they seemed to be climbing further and further up. John wondered how tall this building was and where they were. Where could they be that was a relatively easy commute from London yet possessed an ancient stone fortress that must reach to the very sky? He hadn’t a clue and neither did Sherlock who was looking around intently. “In there.” Moran pointed them toward a doorway; inside they could see another fire crackling temptingly, “We’ll be back in a minute.” _We?_ Moran strode away and Sherlock pulled John inside the room.

“I’m dying of cold John, hurry up!” Sherlock stood as close to the fire as he could, his robes pulled tight. The tall man looked cold and pensive, his cheeks pale and his eyes far away. John soaked it in for a second, still finding it hard to believe that Sherlock was alive and within view. The flames danced and flickered, almost licking the bottom edge of Sherlock’s robe. The room itself was simply furnished, a single small sofa set at an angle near the fireplace and the walls covered in long heavy drapes much like the room John had first seen. The pattern of the material was slightly different and the shape of the mantle was subtly different as well but otherwise the room was the same in shape and dimension, all made of the same endlessly gray stone. John was sure that if he pulled those drapes aside he’d see the same tall windows backed with the unceasing mist that swirled against it.

With a sigh John pulled Sherlock away before he began to burn and tugged his robes open, “All you are doing is shielding yourself from the heat, let some in.” the tall man stood as close to the flames as he could get, ignoring John’s demands that he back away. Sherlock sighed with relief as the heat bathed him, and he held his robes open like wings to trap as much heat as possible until he was nearly crispy. With a contented sigh he tugged his robe closed and John rolled his eyes, he could practically hear Sherlock’s clothes sizzle from here. A moment longer standing that close to the fire and he really would have burned, “All better?” John hadn’t intended for his voice to sound so tender but it was.

“Toasty warm from head to toe, thank you John.” Sherlock looked rosy and contented. John laughed and Sherlock winked at him, obviously feeling much better about everything. There was a sofa nearby, the cushions not too chilly so John laid down a lap-blanket that he’d found lying folded in the corner and warmed by the fire so he and Sherlock could huddle together to try and stay warm. Sherlock looked a bit shy about it but it was clear to John that the tall man wanted continuous physical reassurances. John didn’t hesitate to provide anything that Sherlock needed, and sat as close to the taller man as he could get. Sherlock turned his head to smile down to John and John smiled back. Their eyes locked and for a moment John could feel a trickle of heat worm its way into his abdomen. It would be so easy to kiss Sherlock right now. John leaned forward just a touch and Sherlock did as well.

“Gentlemen,” John stood the second he heard that high sweet voice. There in the doorway with Moran hulking behind him stood James Moriarty, as alive as Sherlock. He was wrapped in the same warm robes everyone else wore but he may as well have been wearing one of his beloved Westwood suits, he simply stood there as if shoulder to ankle fur robes were de rigueur, and the mere fact that he existed and was breathing air made John rage inside. Moriarty didn’t deserve to _breathe_! He didn’t deserve to do anything! _Why wasn’t he dead_? John glared at the small man but even as fury welled up he couldn’t help but notice faint differences, something around Moriarty’s eyes was different, the set of his mouth. The fury drained away suddenly and John found he was holding Sherlock’s hand again. Moriarty’s eyes flickered down to their linked fingers and he took a step forward and to the side. Moran stepped up and just like John and Sherlock they linked hands. Moriarty shrugged his shoulders a bit and cocked his head at the large man by his side as he looked at John, “Weird isn’t it? He’s not even gay.”

“Neither is John.” said Sherlock. Everyone looked at each other. Moran looked at ease but much the same way a predator would be at ease when it felt there was no threat in front of it. John’s eyes flattened a bit, Moran might be a bigger man but John hadn’t lived this long without having a few surprises at the ready. Moriarty’s eyes wandered back to John and he smirked.

“Well then it’s a learning experience for everyone, isn’t that nice? Hello John, you’re looking…well you’re looking _older_ , that’s for certain. I guess the last two years haven’t been kind to you.” Moriarty smiled pleasantly at the soldier.

The fury was back and John wanted to kill him. This twisted little fuck had ruined his life, ruined Sherlock’s life, and who knew how many other people’s lives and he’d done it simply because he was bored. John didn’t hate easily but this man owned _all_ the fury John currently possessed. He wanted to crush him, rip him to pieces and burn his remains but John had information to plumb first, “What the fuck is going on? What the hell happened two years ago? Where is this place? How are you and Sherlock alive again? What’s with the hand-holding and the heart-beats, and the biting and everything? I want answers.”

“He wants answers,” said Moriarty mockingly looking up at Moran. Moriarty looked back at John, “We all want _answers_ Doctor Watson. I don’t have many to give. I’ve been back a bit longer than your sweet Sherlock but not much. Sebastian was kind enough to get me started but then we got _stuck_. It took ages for us to realize Holmes was here too and that he needed you to finish the process.”

“Process? What process? How did Moran get you started? Started doing what?” John was surprised that Sherlock wasn’t the one asking questions. Surely this was the biggest mystery he’d ever encountered. Instead the once-detective stood there looking distressed. John held his hand a little tighter and Sherlock moved closer. Their hearts pounded together and John willed himself to calm for Sherlock’s sake.

“The whole coming back to life thing isn’t a free ride from what we can gather. Your dear Sherlock needed a little something from you; he got it last night didn’t he?” Moriarty gave them a very knowing wink and John scowled, “Sebby dear, perhaps this is a good time to give them your gift.” Sebastian let go of Moriarty’s hand and walked a small bag over to John. Inside were various oils, creams, and powders as well as a large bottle of pain relievers, “He left it in the car. I made him walk all the way back down to fetch it. Our poor Sherly has suffered all day needlessly, hasn’t he?”

John looked up at Sherlock who’s cheeks were bright red again, “Knock it off Jim, you weren’t any better the first day.” said Sebastian calmly and John was shocked to see _Moriarty_ blush and look to the floor, “You said you weren’t going to play stupid games so stop it.” Moriarty looked like he’d been harshly scolded and even bit his lower lip, his cheeks flaming. John was astounded.  Moran looked at John a bit apologetically, “I did forget the bag in the car but Jim didn’t have to make me get it. It just took longer than I expected. Time runs funny here, I meant to give this to you before Sherlock went to you; we had the same problem the day Jim woke up. We’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” Moriarty looked like he wanted to be absolutely anywhere but on the sofa as Moran spoke.

John was a bit confused over how solicitous Moran suddenly was. Still he read the bottle to make sure it really was simply paracetamols, checked the tablets as best he was able and let Sherlock have three. He must really be hurting. If they’d had some privacy John would have used some of the soothing cream that was in there too but there was no way he was going to get Sherlock to drop his pants in front of these two! He was surprised again when Moran grabbed Moriarty’s wrist and dragged him directly out of the room without a word and slammed the door shut, “John what’s in the bag?”

They rifled through it all quickly and as soon as they could get Sherlock’s pants undone John had him leaning over the sofa, his behind facing the light from the fireplace so John could inspect him properly. There was no tearing that John could see but Sherlock was most definitely swollen and reddened, “You’re chafed. All the walking hasn’t helped but there’s nothing too worrisome. It will be uncomfortable for a day or so.” The cream had mild anesthetic qualities and Sherlock sighed with relief as John applied it liberally.

“This is fairly humiliating John.” reported Sherlock after his body relaxed a bit. John wondered about that. The Sherlock he used to know seldom became flustered about anything but this Sherlock seemed on the verge of living his life with pink cheeks, top and bottom.

“You mean because I’m rubbing ointment onto your sore bum while Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty wait outside the door?” John had to lean over to peer closely at Sherlock’s behind because their only light was from the fire and the color of the flames made it more difficult to assess if there was further damage of any kind. John was a bit chafed as well but nothing that wouldn’t take care of itself in a day or so as well. He could wait until they were back in their bedchamber. He put an extra daub of the numbing cream on Sherlock’s behind just to make sure the taller man was a comfortable as possible.

Sherlock chuckled, “Yes, because of that.” There were wet wipes in the bag so while Sherlock got his clothes sorted out John cleaned himself up and tossed the used wipes onto the fire where they burned to ash in seconds.

“Whatever is happening isn’t your fault Sherlock, you’re hurt and I’m just grateful Moran thought to get this stuff at all. I can give you a rubdown later too; you’ll recuperate faster if you aren’t all tense.” John had no doubt that whatever they learned from Moriarty and Moran that remaining in this place wasn’t even a question.

Once again the tall man leaned down and pressed a kiss to John’s lips, looking as startled as he had the first time. John decided to just add it to his mental list of things to sort out with the others and didn’t say anything but gave Sherlock a kiss in return. The taller man smiled gratefully and nodded, “You can come back now.” he called now that Sherlock was covered again.

Moriarty was the first to push his way back in and he went straight to the fire, “I get cold quickly.” he complained irritably, shooting a sideways look at John before shuffling slightly closer to Moran.

“Sherlock seems to as well.” John looked from one man to the other, “Can you please explain what’s going on?” Moran shoved the small sofa closer to the fire and Moriarty sat on it, Sherlock stood near the fireplace so John went with him, “So?”

Moriarty was clearly gathering his thoughts, “When I first woke up here Sebastian wasn’t with me. He came a day or two later, he said he felt _pulled_ to this place. I don’t remember very much. We don’t know where this place is either though Sebby seems to be able to leave when he wants to, I can’t. We’ve tried several times. I can get as far as the stone bridge and then I’m back in this room. It happens instantly, we don’t know how.” Moriarty looked disgruntled and John felt uneasy.  He’d had the same impulse as Moran but had resisted. He’d been feeling the urge to come here! _Sherlock really had been calling his name_. John looked over at his lover with dismay. Did this mean Sherlock was trapped here as well?

Moran leaned forward, “I scouted around. There are a dozen different roads that lead from this place, all of them end up in different countries, don’t ask me how. The road I brought John back on always leads to London. Whenever I come back the road is different, all I have to do is drive in any direction and turn when I feel the need to turn and I always end up back here. I don’t know how it works. I just start from wherever it is I left my car. Jim’s been back for about four months now, we discovered Sherlock two months ago, he couldn’t even speak. He was a shade and all he kept saying was “John.” It took forever for him to manifest enough to tell me who to find and where. Jim’s got loads of cash, or he did. I’ve got access to all of his hidden accounts. Sherlock told me you’d never leave Baker Street and wouldn’t come if you’d lose your home because of it. I’ve arrange for your landlady to receive a monthly deposit for your flat by the way, she can just keep that pile of cash, Jim has no use for money, it was just a way for him to keep track of how well he played his games.” Moriarty gave a shrug, not arguing and not interrupting. He seemed content to pull his legs up and lean against the large man at his side. Moran didn’t even seem to notice how his arm came down from the back of the sofa to hold the small man tight to him.

“None of that makes sense.” said John. Sherlock was now pressed to John’s side and his long thin arm was creeping up John’s back until it was draped over his shoulder. John felt better the second they were touching and leaned against Sherlock.

“I didn’t say it made sense; I’m just telling you how it is.” Sebastian seemed unruffled and just continued, “I don’t know exactly how they came back but I can tell you about what they are.”

“What do you mean what they are? They’re human. Sherlock’s sitting on proof of how human he is!” Sherlock blushed when John said that and Moran pointed at him.

“Look at that Watson. Look at his face. _He’s embarrassed_. The Sherlock you used to know, did he blush?” _No he didn’t_. John had been several times amazed during cases when Sherlock would do or say something so embarrassing anyone else would have died from terminal cringing but Sherlock _never_ got flustered. He did anything he needed to do to solve a case but here he stood, face as red as a tomato and staring at the floor. “They’re not human, not really. You’ve had the worst of it already, but John, what happened your first night back with Sherlock, do you remember what he did with you?”

John scowled again and Sherlock made a small distraught sound, “He bit me.”

“He fucking ate your neck; don’t try to pretty it up. He sucked you dry and then he fed it back to you. He’s a vampire, you’re his bonded now. I’m Jim’s. He did the same shitty thing to me, little fucker! From what I can tell it was instinctive reactions. Jim didn’t remember anything about before he got his body back until earlier, I’m betting Sherlock doesn’t either, at least not yet, not that there’s much to remember. He mostly floated around looking for you. They’re not those stupid fucking movie vampires with the glittery skin and the super-powers. They’re pretty much the same men they were before they died but both of them are missing something huge, have you noticed yet John?”

“We noticed. We haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“Jim’s lost his drive to dominate. He’s not interested in that whole taking-over-the-world kick he was on. It’s like that whole part of him was surgically removed. He can fake it for a minute or two but much longer than that and he’ll begin to cry… _oh god Jim, not now_!” Moriarty did look upset and his eyes were welling up. He looked mortified and tried to hide from Sherlock.

“ _I can’t help it_. My feelings get hurt easily and you made me sound _defective_.” Moriarty sniffled and turned his back, wiggling into the corner of the sofa like a child so no one could see him. “I _hate_ being like this.” Sebastian was back on the sofa and he tugged the small man around until he was back in his arms, “I’m sorry.” John watched, his jaw hanging, as James Moriarty wormed his way deeper into Moran’s arms, trying to hide himself in the large man’s robes.

Moran soothed the small man in his arms by rubbing his back slowly and speaking softly, “Nothing to be sorry for love, you’re still getting used to everything. I’m here though right? It’ll be okay.” John didn’t know what to think! Moran looked up and his face was hard, “Listen Watson, whatever it was Sherlock doesn’t have any more is the price he paid to come back. He came back to be with _you_ , do you understand? For whatever reason these two idiots were in love with us, they made some kind of promise to _something_ and they came back to life. Pretty romantic yeah? Except for all the blood-sucking, I really could have done without that. The heart-beat thing only happens after feeding day. It’s a side-effect, it’ll wear off faster and faster after each feeding.”

 _Something_? Promises to _something_? What _something_? “You mean there’s more?” John wasn’t looking forward to being eaten on a regular basis. That had really, really hurt and John couldn’t even begin to deal with remembering the feel of Sherlock gnawing on him.

“Not like the first time, that first round is extremely rough. I was wondering if it had something to do with the transition from shade to flesh, they had almost-bodies before the bite, they had their shapes but nothing solid, now they look just like regular people. They’re not, but they look it. Shh Jim, don’t cry, it’s not your fault you’re a vampire.” Sebastian soothed a softly crying Moriarty again, “He’ll be fine, he can’t stop right away sometimes, he’s getting better at it. Their emotions are all over the place, they’re like kids, they don’t have self-control at all so be prepared for it. Jim’s not actually upset anymore, it’s like his autonomic system get stuck and sometimes it takes a bit for it to kick back into normal gear. It takes a bit of getting used to. Look Watson, yes, they’re vampires or something like vampires. Jim’s bitten me almost twenty times now, not including that first one but the other bites are more like the ones you see onscreen. He doesn’t get the pointy teeth but there’s something in his saliva that makes the bite heal in less than a minute and it doesn’t hurt if he remembers to lick first but it feels weird. He doesn’t take much, a mouthful at most. The first bite is like…well I guess he needed more and fast. Fuck that hurt, and right after he wants to…well you know what Sherlock will want to do now. I suggest you prepare yourselves.”

John sat there and just blinked, “This is all so unbelievable.” Admittedly John didn’t know much about vampires apart from what he’d seen in the movies. All of it seemed pretty implausible if you looked at it logically and after living with Sherlock for so long John had gotten nearly every monster movie he’d ever rented picked apart and critiqued by the very man who would sometime soon be sipping on John like a human juice-box, _lovely_.

“No shit Watson, this is like one of those god-awful movies with the cheap props and bad lighting. Listen, I don’t know what this place is but it seems to like taking care of us. I don’t know how stuff gets done here but food appears when we need it, there’s always wood for the fireplace in your room…” Moran stopped speaking for a moment, “Listen, the long and short of it is this, Sherlock needs you to keep living. Something about the blood, _our blood_ , is keeping them alive. Now that you’ve bonded with Sherlock I can focus on Jim. They’re growing up sort of, like they’re _vampires_ but they’re not _mature_ yet, I don’t know, I’m a fucking hit man not a god-damned philosopher. I don’t know any of this shit. Jim was all scrambled the first week, he’s more like himself now except for the feelings, I mean smarts-wise. I’d be willing to bet Sherlock isn’t as sharp as he normally is, he’ll get better with some time and some…well…blood. Sorry John. Now that they’re getting their wits back maybe they can figure it out. Still, from what I can muddle together I think Sherlock’s been existing vicariously off of me through Jim, that’s why I needed to find you as fast as I could.  They were linked somehow, maybe because they made the deal together? I don’t know but it was draining me. Believe me, I could tell when everything went down, I’ve never been so relieved to know someone was getting laid.”

Sherlock was going to die from lack of blood in the rest of his body. His blush was tremendously red and he almost quivered with embarrassed shock that Moriarty and Moran _knew_ he’d had sex, and John snapped, “Watch yourself.”

“Stop being a tender fucking flower Watson, do you think I _want_ to have a heart-to-heart about your fuck-choices? I don’t okay. Now shut the fuck up and listen, I went through a lot of fucking crap in the last few weeks so unless you feel like learning the hard way like I did you’ll shut your face and hear me out!” John shut it but glared. Moran just continued, “We’re stuck here, or at least, they’re stuck here and I won’t leave Jim willingly any more than you’d ever leave Sherlock. I’m calling them vampires because of the blood thing but they’re really not like the ones you and I probably know about. The sunlight thing is shite for one; Jim’s been out by the stone bridge in full daylight. Nothing happened. Garlic doesn’t do a thing except make dinner taste better. I’m not about to experiment with a stake through the heart or by chopping his head off but Jim seems alive, like a regular man. He’s not though, neither is Sherlock. They’re faster, stronger, they sense more, feel more but John…Sherlock and Jim aren’t alive the same way you and I are. Tonight, tomorrow at the latest Sherlock’s heart will stop beating and it won’t beat again until he feeds next. I freaked out when it happened to Jim, I didn’t want you to go through that without a bit of warning.”

“Oh my god.”

“I know right? Look man, we don’t know each other and we have no fucking reason to trust one another but you and I are in the exact same boat with our fellas and believe me, I don’t want you screaming through the corridors because of whatever weird shit goes down when yours decides to have a snack. Jim can’t seem to control himself when he needs to feed. It’s like he switches off and becomes more vampire-like, I can’t explain really. He’s…Jim cover your ears if you don’t want to hear this,” Moriarty childishly covered his ears and continued to refuse to look at anyone, “He gets all sexy and hypnotic, I know you know what I mean because Sherlock did it to you already.” Sherlock groaned and turned his back on Moran. John listened, unable to stop and Moran continued as if nothing had happened, “All he’ll need to do is look at you and you’ll want to shag like bunnies until he’s had enough. It’s part of how they function now, they need a bit of us…so…yeah, biology and whatever, I don’t really know but I always top, I’m just saying. Jim never remembers afterward and it really bothers him. Do yourself a favor and learn how Sherlock looks when he starts to get hungry for blood! It’s not the same as when they’re hungry for regular food, they eat, they shit, they do everything a regular person does but he’s going to need blood eventually and you’re going to want to prepare him for what happens after he eats, he won’t wait. Jim’s held out as long as a week but normally he needs blood every few days. Now the bright side is that these little memory black-outs seem to wear off and grow shorter, the older Jim gets the more he remembers and the greater his self-control. I believe he’ll get better faster now that Sherlock isn’t sucking all the vitality out of me. Fuck I’ve never been so tired in all my life. Now I feel like I just got back from vacation.”

“Blood and sex.” said John numbly, “That’s what Sherlock needs from me.” This was too much to take in and John’s head hurt again. Sherlock made another distressed sound and suddenly John was being held tightly.

Moran looked exasperated, “Are you stupid? Yes they need the blood and they’ll want sex but that’s not what this is all about. Its love you idiot. They love us. These two genius asshats love us so much they crossed over from wherever it was they went after they died and came back! Now what I’m hoping for is that these two finish whatever it is they need to finish so they can leave this fucking ice-hole. This place is aware, it’s a building but there’s something so fucking weird about it. I haven’t come across a single trace of anyone else but we still find things that are different or adjusted so they’re more suitable. When I first got here our room only had a bed in it. Now it looks like Jim and I have been living together for decades, all this stuff just shows up. Now inside this place is different than outside. You can’t see it no matter where in the valley you are, I’ve looked. There’s nothing in the forest except wildlife, no random hikers, no local residents, nothing. It stretches out for miles around this place.”

“John?”

“Yes Sherlock?” Sherlock was tugging on John’s sleeve.

“John something is on the mantle now.”

Moran was on his feet and beside John in a flash, not vampire fast but still almost unnaturally quick for a human. On the mantle was a roll of ivory paper tied with a bit of twine. “What is that?”

“God damn I thought you people were geniuses. It’s a note. Read it.” Moran was irritable and snapped open the twine to unfurl the paper to read the words out loud:

 

Blood Moon brings the Hunters

To win is to destroy

Odds are even

One death brings two

The Keep keeps the Players

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very specific goals in mind for everything that has occurred.


	4. Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have been given the most astounding information.

They were back in their room the second the last word had been spoken. John stared around in surprise but there was the wardrobe that had appeared, and inside were all of John’s things. Sherlock’s violin now sat on its own stand, close enough to the fireplace to remain warm but not enough to warp it. Their bed was freshly remade and there was a small assortment of spirits and wines on a trolley along with various glasses. John took in details indifferently; he was rocked to his core with everything that he had just learned. The words of the note burned behind his eyelids and he felt a particular kind if anxiety rise up, the urge to protect, to defend.

Sherlock didn’t seem to care that they’d been instantly transported from one part of the building to another but sank down onto the sofa. The tall man folded himself up into a small package and tried to wrap his arms around his head. He was shaking and it took a second for John to realize Sherlock was having a complete meltdown, “John I’m _dead_. I’m a _monster_. I’m a blood-sucking sex-hungry monster! _John_!” Sherlock’s fingers tangled into his curls and his voice was agonized, “John, I’ve never wanted to have sex, I don’t even like the _idea_ of having sex but now…now I have no choice and even if I did have a choice it’s _too late_ , we already did it. I’m _ruined_!”

John was already stunned by everything that had happened as well as everything Moran and Moriarty had told them but this news was a like a punch in the heart. “What do you mean you never wanted to have sex?” John recalled all over again how Sherlock had never once shown an interest in dating anyone in all the time he’d known the detective. For fuck’s sake, Irene Adler had literally shoved her bare breasts in his face and Sherlock had merely looked annoyed.

“I mean I’ve dedicated all my time and energy to being a purely cerebral being and the purity of my body has been part of that! I’ve very deliberately kept myself from engaging in anything even remotely sexual, even when I was a junkie I never once traded favors for drugs! I…I’ve never even shared a romantic kiss with someone I liked…except you.”

“According to Moran you love me.” said John blankly. He’d taken Sherlock’s virginity, something Sherlock had never wanted to lose. He felt sick.

Sherlock’s whole body twitched, his face still hidden in his arms. His voice was small and almost frightened, “ _I do!_ ” John’s heart gave a strange lurch again and suddenly he was beside Sherlock, hugging the man close and letting him wrap his arms and legs around the soldier. John felt instantly better and clearly Sherlock did as well. “I know I never told you, not once, but _I do_. I love you John. Moran was right. My feelings are all over the place, they’re running wild right now and I’m so on edge that I feel like my heart wants to burst but it won’t. It stopped just as we got back. It’s not beating any longer John… _John_ …John I’m _dead_ and I don’t want to be. At the same time I’m happy I’m back because I _do_ care about you and I _did_ want to be with you but I didn’t know _how_ to do that and _not_ have sex because _you like sex_ and…we have to fight. We’re going to be attacked, that’s what the note means. We can expect eight invaders at least. If…if one of them kills you or me, we’ll both die.”

Sherlock’s change of gears made John dizzy for a second. He was overwhelmed with everything, “When?”

“It depends on the moon, it said the _blood moon_. That’s the full moon during an eclipse. We need to find out what’s been going on with the…the…” Sherlock stalled clearly still in the middle of an emotional spiral.

“The solar system? See I told you that information would come in handy one day!” teased John and Sherlock gave him a watery yet grateful smile.

“I _am_ sorry John. You’ve been dragged into all of this because of my selfish desires, the very same desires that killed me to begin with. I’m so sorry.” Sherlock looked miserable and penitent now, “I can never offer you any sort of normal life, not family, not home, not security, nothing. I can’t even seem to offer you basic human comforts, now you’re apparently bound to me forever, and I’m so so so very sorry John.”

John realized his life was like a fairy tale. Not the animated ones that came with theme parks and merchandizing. No, this fairy tale was more like the ones so diligently collected by a famous pair of brothers who had taken down all their stories from the lips of those who had seen too much to truly believe the stories were mere entertainments. There was truth in the bones of them and now John and Sherlock were well caught in it. It was dark, visceral, and filled with the most primeval of things, survival, sex, love, fear, this story was about real life no matter how unreal the circumstances. “What was the very first thing you promised me?”

Sherlock sniffled a bit unbecomingly but said in a small voice, “Danger.”

“That’s right and here I am. Here _we_ are, stuck in the middle of all of this but Sherlock, we’re stuck _together_ and that makes all the difference.” Sherlock was still despondent so John held him closely and both of them felt better once again. Sherlock’s heartbeat was conspicuously absent but John decided this would _not_ trouble him. If this was the way Sherlock was now, then that was just that. He wasn’t going to make Sherlock feel upset about something he couldn’t help. He was still warm, and for a moment John wondered how it all worked but clearly there was some kind of greater force at play. He winced away from the idea of magic, he liked movies and non-fiction adventures but as a solid man of the world he was too practically minded to lend credence to some of the things he’d learned about. Maybe it was true but John could never wrap his head around it. What he did understand was that beating or not Sherlock’s heart belonged to him and John would never hurt it, “I think a big part of our problem is that you don’t seem to realize how much I love you too.”

Sherlock looked stunned, “You do?”

John shook his head and smiled down at the man in his arms, “Yes you daft bugger, of course I do. Why do you think I was still living at Baker Street? Why do you think I dropped everything and left London with Moran after only moments of thought? I love you, of course I love you. Our flat still has all your things in it; I kept everything because I missed you so much I couldn’t even give up your stupid sock index. It’s still there.”

“What about _the sex_ and me _being_ _dead_?” Sherlock sounded dramatic and John almost rolled his eyes but spoke with concern.

“Well there’s nothing we can do about you being dead, at least, we don’t know that for sure but there’s no reason yet to think otherwise. As for the sex, I’m so sorry for that part Sherlock, I don’t know what to do. When we…when we were in bed together you were very quick and very strong, I couldn’t get away and I won’t want to. I know you might not like this idea but there _are_ certain things I could do _beforehand_ that would make it easier on you, I mean, you’d remember that part at least but you wouldn’t be in pain _afterward_. I…I don’t know how to feel about this Sherlock, I’m going to know I’m taking you against your rational will, that your need to feed isn’t the same as consent. I…I’m the one who’s raping you Sherlock.”

“That is possibly the most ridiculous thing you have ever said John Watson and you will never say it again.” Sherlock rearranged himself so he could see John easier, kneeling on the sofa and peering down at John, a resolute expression on his face, “If this _must_ happen I won’t remember anyway, not according to Moran. We’ll prepare in advance, I know you are doing this to help me not because you have designs on me. That helps and I can be practical about it. For the rest of it I’ll say this, if this must be the way of it then I’m glad it’s _you_ John. I give you permission to do whatever it is that you feel needs doing during those moments. No matter that I won’t recall your actions it will still be _me_ being with _you_ and I trust you.”

John was still very torn, “It still feels wrong. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do.”

“You’ve been making me do things I don’t want to do since the day we met!” exclaimed Sherlock, “I swear your obsession with regular meals and remembering people’s first name borders on unhealthy! You made me apologize to Anderson once! _Anderson_! Given a choice between being sodomized or doing _that_ again I will happily bend over.”

John laughed but it was as watery as Sherlock’s smile, “Thank you Sherlock but I’m still going to be uncomfortable about this.”

“I know John but I meant what I said, you were right when you said we were here together and it’s just as important to me to know you are happy as it is to you to know that I am. I don’t want you to feel guilty for doing what we both know needs to be done! Clearly blood isn’t enough, it’s obvious that I get something else I need through sex, perhaps your emissions, perhaps it’s just the intimacy, I don’t know but John, I know, _I know_ you’ll take care of me and I want you to at least be able to enjoy the experience. My body is yours, please, don’t feel badly about this. I will need it. I will need you.”

John had no words for all the things he was feeling right then. He was intensely protective of Sherlock, wanted to shield him from anything that might cause the man discomfort or unhappiness but at the same time he was relieved that Sherlock understood that John would never force himself on him when he was vulnerable, but that Sherlock had very specific needs now and that John was freely willing to meet them. Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s mouth and looked at him very seriously, “One day perhaps, when I’ve become accustomed to the idea I would like to explore this topic with you. For now my body will do as it must to survive and you will help it. You are quite literally my life John, I live because of you and because of that you will live for me.”

“I will Sherlock. You know I will. I just…this is not how I would have wanted it to go, if I’d had a choice in it,” confessed the soldier stiffly, “I don’t mean the being dead part though you and I are still having a talk about that someday. I mean that if I’d had my way I wouldn’t have rushed into sex with you, I would have gone slow, as slow as you needed until you could decide if that was something you really didn’t want or maybe there would be parts of it you’d like or…what I mean is I would have offered you anything, anyway you wanted it. I do love you Sherlock and being without you for all this time has been a living hell. This situation isn’t ideal, not at all but it’s what we’ve got and I’ll take it. Thank you for giving me permission, I wish you didn’t have to endure this.”

“I regret that I’ve caught you up in this mess John, this isn’t the kind of life you deserve.” Sherlock bowed his head and looked ready to cry again, “I’ve taken you away from absolutely everything.”

“There was nothing to take me away _from_ Sherlock, don’t you understand? Mrs. Hudson is very nearly the last person who even remembers us, no one else cares, and no one else will miss me, not really. I was almost as dead as you were this whole time and this is better, it’s so much better and I will never be ungrateful to have you back, no matter how I got you. Take whatever you want from me, I don’t care, it’s yours to use as you need it. I’m as much yours as you are mine Sherlock, I have no other reason to live except that I love you, I missed you, I need to be with you. My heart will beat for you for as long as you’ll let it.”

“That sounds terribly trite John.”

“I know but it’s true.”

“I do love you.”

“I love you too but I’m freezing my balls off. Why is this place so cold?”

“Stone retains the ambient temperature and unfortunately for a space this size we’d need a fireplace several times its current state which would be very uncomfortable, we wouldn’t even be able to get close enough to put more wood on. It would be easier if we had a draped four-poster bed, some area carpets, and possibly some moveable screens to trap the heat into a small area.” Sherlock stood up, took John’s hand and pulled him into the dim icy corridor outside their room, shutting the door firmly behind them, “Moran said this place liked to take care of us and that it was aware.”

John’s eyebrows shot straight up, “So what, you think we’re going to go back inside and it will be all different now?”

“It’s trying to be hospitable. It’s brought us our favorite food, and I noticed the trolley had your preferred brand of whiskey and my favorite labels of wine.” John hadn’t noticed the labels. Trust Sherlock to seem not to see but to have taken in every detail anyway.

“If it were really trying to be hospitable it would let us have Wi-Fi and our laptops. That would be gold.” said John sarcastically. “I’m betting dinner showed up and nothing else.”

Sherlock pulled the door open and looked smug. Their sleeping area was now made of a monstrously huge carved four-poster with heavy drapes pulled elegantly back to reveal the decadent looking duvet and pillow covered bed that it sheltered. The floor was now covered in thick rich carpets and on either side of the merrily crackling fireplace were two different privacy screens that could be pulled to either side of the sofa which was now matched with a long low coffee table and end tables with brightly burning candle-lamps on them. John looked around but there was no technology in sight but one of the inner walls was now covered with a well-stocked series of bookshelves. The trolley with the spirits on it had been joined by one that clearly contained dinner. “Oh fine you win.”

“I think it does the best it can John, it’s incredible but look, everything is as manual as it can be. There’s no power necessary for anything here. I think even if you did bring your laptop here it wouldn’t work. Do you have your mobile?” They found it in the wardrobe, dead and unresponsive. John’s watch was there too, both hands stuck exactly at twelve.

“How are we supposed to know when the blood moon is coming then?” asked John with irritation. “It’s not like I have the latest stellar events calendar in my head. I don’t even know the difference between waxing and waning. You do though I bet. What is it?”

Sherlock was pointing over to the tall windows which had been gray with mist. The mist had melted back a bit and now they could see a half-moon shining down at them, “The quarter moon, the half-way point between the full and the new moon. We’re on a dividing point. Your watch stopped at midnight, the moon is at a mid-point in its cycle. It must mean something.”

“Why do you know about moons when you don’t know anything else about the solar system?”

“For goodness sake John, criminals everywhere blame the full moon for all sorts of behavior, I keep all relevant information in my Mind Palace and the moon is relevant! How many planets circle the sun is not!” Sherlock looked exasperated now and began to pace back and forth. “I wonder if our perception of the moon will shift, if so we have a way of tracking time now, if this place even functions on linear time which I suspect it does not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Moran said time runs funny here. He didn’t clarify but you can’t deny that we were with them and then we were here before we could bat an eye. Moriarty claims that he is returned to that same room when he attempts to cross the stone bridge. Moran isn’t certain how long Moriarty has been back; he’s given us an _estimate_. This place clearly does not conform to the reality you and I are familiar with. There are new rules and we must learn what they are or be at a disadvantage.”

“How do you suppose we find out?”

“The Keep has provided us with reading material. We read.”

First they ate dinner, and Sherlock got misty when they uncovered the tray of ravioli that looked like it came straight out of the ovens at Angelo’s, their favorite Italian restaurant. The bread was crusty and soft, the signature garlic spread on top making both men moan with delight. Once again there was exactly enough to sate them, a small dessert of a piping hot chocolate dessert enough to fill the last empty corner of their bellies. John put all their dirty dishes on the tray when they were done and Sherlock put the trolley in the hallway and shut the door. A second later he opened it and everything was gone, “Interesting.”

John didn’t know what to say. Clearly the suspension of disbelief was required. “We need more information; I want to go talk to Sebastian.”

Sherlock scowled and sat on the sofa, looking stubborn and staring into the fire, “Later. I don’t want to go now.”

“Well what do you want to do then?”

“Like I said before, we’ll read. Let’s look over the selection we’ve been given. Perhaps there’s a clue in there.”

They went to the bookshelves and began reading titles and authors, “We may as well have a drink.” John got up and poured them both a finger of whiskey. Sherlock took his absently but John enjoyed the warm burn of the alcohol as he perused the offerings. He wasn’t terribly surprised to find a large selection of books on medieval weaponry and battle techniques though he’d be damned if they ever got him on a _horse_. Sherlock found several books on alchemy that had him riveted and soon they were ensconced on the sofa, a small stack of books each and their own reading lamp to use.

“John there’s actual instructions in this one, I could distill….John?”

John blinked and looked around. He wasn’t with Sherlock and for a dread-filled moment he feared the worst. He was in a room filled with wooden racks and lots of things made out of dark metal. Suddenly John heard a scuffling sound and a loud curse, “What the fuck!” Moran.

“I’m here too.” called John and Moran walked around tall set of shelves that held stacks of metal and wood items. John took a quick glance around, “Armory.”

Moran angry enough to spit, “Jim and I were…” John noticed the Moran’s clothes were disheveled and he had a high flush on his cheeks and not from anger though he was definitely furious, “Why are we here?” Moran had clearly been interrupted during an amorous moment with Moriarty and John regretted being a writer with a vivid imagination because for a blistering moment he could see the two of them locked in a passionate embrace. Moriarty was all about the pleasures of the flesh; John could see he didn’t wait until feeding time to indulge in his lover. Regret turned to envy. He’d never have that.

John looked around. There were two wooden forms that looked vaguely male standing at the end of a wide space; one was taller than the other. John turned in a small circle and inspected everything quickly, “I think we’re supposed to choose.”

“From this shit? This crap is hundreds of years old and it all weighs a ton!” Moran began to dig through shelves of helmets and shields while John looked at the astounding array of edged weapons. There was several of each type so John went through them all, picking them up, feeling the weight and balances until he’d chosen one of each thing and laid them in a large chest at the foot of the smaller figure which obviously represented him. Moran pulled out various pieces of armour and fell into a serious discussion with John about mobility vs protection and eventually they sorted out enough to piece together two rather odd looking suits. It had been a pain to buckle and unbuckled greaves and gorgets, and some of it was discarded as entirely impractical, like the footwear, “I am not running around in pointy steel socks.” exclaimed Moran hotly tossing the last pair of armored footwear aside. “All this shit is ugly as hell. Why can’t we have something tactical and current?”

“Sherlock was saying something about how the rules of this place are different than what we’re used to. Maybe this is part of it. We’ll just have to make do with what’s on hand. Come on, we still have to finish picking your weapons.” John just got on with it. He had no control over the situation but he could at least ascertain Moran’s competence with the weapons on hand. John blessed all his visits to the VA and the old soldier’s collections. He recognized much of what was on hand even if he wasn’t exactly sure how to use some of it. He knew there were helpful volumes in their private library, he’d learn whatever he had to. Moran was unsure of weapons like maces and flails but the darts he found very charming and took two different sets. Both men made sure they would be able to attach the weapons to their armor then painstakingly undid it all and fit it to one another, testing their fit, weight and balance until they figured out how much they could physically bear. It was a lot.

“You’re pretty fucking strong for such a little guy Watson.” said Moran at long last. He looked around curiously. There was a chest of chain-mail shirts, “I wonder.” he said curiously and as John watched Moran bent over, grasped the chest and flexed. He lifted it straight up easily, “Well fuck me.”

John was astounded, that chest had to weigh at least 500 pounds and Moran had hefted it like it was a sack of sugar! Moran put it down and looked as shocked as John. “Let me have a go.” said John and went over as Moran obligingly stepped aside. John braced his feet, leaned over to grasp the wide-spread handles and lifted carefully. It wasn’t any worse than lifting a well-packed suitcase! John set it back down, “This just gets weirder and weirder.”

Moran pulled out a long nasty looking knife so sharp the edge glittered. Without warning he yanked John’s arm straight out and sliced across his palm. John shouted and suddenly both men could hear an unearthly scream, almost a deep roar and it was filled with rage. The light in the room dimmed and the door flung open, Sherlock was there and he looked furious, “John!” he hissed and in a blink Sherlock was in front of the doctor inspecting his hand. Turning faster than John could believe Sherlock had Moran lifted in the air by his neck and spat out the words, “ _You hurt John_!”

“Let Seb go!” shouted Moriarty who was now by the door. Sherlock flung the large man to the floor and hissed at Moriarty who looked enraged, “Touch my Sebastian again and I will rip your doctor in _two_!” threatened the small man, his fingers curled into claws as if ready to exact his promise on the instant.

“Stop it Jim, this is my fault, I did hurt John, I just wasn’t thinking. Look Watson, look at your hand.” Moran was picking himself up off the floor stiffly. John turned his hand over and looked at the laceration, it was sealing itself shut right in front of his eyes, the blood that had spilled simply running away and reabsorbing back into John’s flesh until there wasn’t even a scar left. “I had a pin in my left leg. It was on the bed this morning. Watson, is there anything about you that’s not as it was?”

John soothed Sherlock before answering; his lover was trembling with rage and shock, brushing his thumb over the temporarily wounded patch of skin while he glared at the other pair. John assessed himself and nearly staggered back. His shoulder! It hadn’t ached at all, not once since they’d arrived! He rolled it experimentally. Not a twinge. John held his left arm out and with Sherlock they stared at it. It didn’t tremble, not a bit. John’s wounded arm was perfectly healed. He could be a surgeon again if he wanted! “Sherlock, check out my scar.” said John anxiously.

Sherlock tugged John’s robe back just enough to look at the patch of skin on his shoulder-blade, “It’s still there.” John sighed in relief. His scar was a large part of his identity, grotesque proof that he’d tried his best until it had nearly killed him. “What’s going on, why did you cut John?”

“To see if we really healed the way I was thinking we did. I didn’t consciously decide to do it, I just did it.” Moran looked annoyed by that admission and turned to John, “I’m sorry Watson, I really didn’t think about what I was doing.”

“This place keeps making us do things. Are we puppets?” asked John darkly. Everyone looked around at each other and John just pulled Sherlock close, “I’m alright love. That was a pretty impressive entrance.”

Sherlock looked dazed, “I ran the entire way. I was so fast. I was so angry. I felt you being cut. I knew you were hurt and I had to get to you as quickly as I could.” Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John and resumed glaring at Moran, “If you ever do something like that again I will end both of you!”

Moran snarled now and pulled Moriarty to him, “I didn’t do it on purpose Holmes, I apologized. Don’t you dare threaten Jim for what I did.”

“You mean I shouldn’t do what Moriarty did and threaten to rip you in two?” snapped Sherlock drawing himself to his full height and looking foreboding, “Hurt John even once and….” they were back in their bedroom, John’s new armor and weapons arranged in a far corner like they’d always been there. Sherlock stomped his foot petulantly.

“How long was I gone?”

“We were reading and then I felt you being hurt, for me you weren’t gone for more than a moment.”

“I was in that armory with Moran for hours. It took forever to get through all of the stuff.” mused John who was still inspecting his hand.

“That probably explains why there’s a meal waiting for you when we’ve only just eaten.” Sherlock pointed to the corner near the fireplace where a meal trolley innocently sat waiting to be noticed. Under the lid was a steaming plate of curry. John sighed but ate because he really was hungry now as well as tired. They took another hot shower after and climbed into warm pajamas they found waiting for them. The bed proved to be comfortably warm and when Sherlock drew the drapes it warmed further until they were in their own snug little world. John smiled a little sadly when Sherlock insisted on laying his head on John’s chest to listen to his heart and fall asleep but he was grateful all over again that his lover was here with him at all, and that strange circumstances or not, he would never fail Sherlock. Thus resolved the soldier closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The uploading of this chapter marks the one year anniversary of me writing on A03. I hope people have found my stories adequate.


	5. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has experienced one of the Keep's more unusual aspects when he and Moran are taken from their partners, now they've learned that Sherlock and Moriarty aren't the only ones who are different.

John woke up the next morning to the mouth-watering smell of breakfast. Sherlock was still face down in his pillow and snoring loudly so John crawled out of their opulent nest and found deep warm slippers waiting for him as well as a robe that was similar to the one still at Baker Street but much heavier. He shrugged into it, drew back the drapes, and went out. The fire had died down but he piled it high from the never-ending supply that waited in its own little nook. As soon as the flames licked and caught the new fuel John went over to the breakfast trolley and looked. “Oh my god yes.” he groaned.

His breakfast was enormous and so hot the sausages were still sizzling. There were fried potatoes with onions, fresh tomatoes set alongside perfectly fried eggs that rested on a small stack of pancakes. John drooled. There was a tall carafe underneath and John was pleased to find tea this time, his preferred breakfast drink. There was a second covered dish and when John lifted it he saw a small omelette with multi-grain toast perched on the edge of the plate. “Sherlock, your breakfast is here.”

John tried not to laugh when Sherlock was startled out of bed, jolted awake by John’s call. He was still getting used to things and accidently fell right out, clutching his sheet to him as his too fast body motored ahead before the young vampire’s mind was completely awake. He was almost at John’s feet before he stopped moving, face-down on the carpet and giggled silently, “My sheet!”

“Nice ninja moves there Sherlock, I can’t wait for our first battle situation, you’ll be the best obstacle on the course.” John was giggling as hard as Sherlock and trying not to.

“That’s highly entertaining John, can you help me up please?” Sherlock’s legs were marvellously tangled in his bedding and John had to unwind him before Sherlock could stand, still laughing a bit and blushing hard, “I suppose I’ll have to work on that.”

“I think we’re both going to get have to get used to having to get used to things.” John wasn’t unhappy with one of the side-effects of his new mortality, if he got to eat like this all the time it might almost be worth living in this icy tower. They settled themselves down on the sofa after Sherlock got into his robe and slippers then dug in. Sherlock ate his omelet in slow demure bites, nibbling his toast away but John shoveled his food in like he was never going to get a chance to eat again, “Wow. Sorry.” he said when he looked down at his bare plate a few minutes later.

“I would have commented but I was afraid of losing a hand if I tried to tap you on the shoulder. As amusing as this was I’m already wondering why you are being fueled so heavily after being given armor and weapons?” John was sipping his tea now and looked over his shoulder at his new possessions.

“Well, all that stuff’s pretty heavy; I imagine even if I don’t feel it my body is going to be burning up a lot of calories lugging it around. If it comes to being required to wear it for extended periods then I’ll need to eat three or four meals like this every day.”

Sherlock looked thoughtfully at the display, “It’s rather unattractive. You’ll look like some kind of steam-punk beetle in that.”

“What do you know about steam-punk?” demanded John and Sherlock actually rolled his eyes at him.

“For heaven’s sake John, we did three separate cases where five of the suspects were part of that sub-culture. I do notice things, and as I said, I keep relevant information. That was relevant and you’ll still look like a beetle or perhaps some kind of slightly deformed tortoise. Is all of this necessary?”

“You should see Moran’s getup and yes! If we’re fighting against the sorts of weapons we’ve been given then yes, yes to all of it. If you think this looks ridiculous you should see what we left behind! I don’t know how they did it but seriously, no wonder life-expectancy was so low back in those days!” Sherlock still looked skeptical so John made sure he was bundled up properly and took him over to the array, “See this? Look at these weapons, not only are the edges dangerous but the impact alone is damaging. Even without outright cuts or breakage there would be internal damage without this level of protection. It’s more than defense against being bloodied; it’s about keeping your insides in working order.”

Sherlock looked disturbed, “This is why the Keep brought us back before I finished threatening Moran. He’s going to hurt you again and you’re going to hurt him. You’ll need to practice and you only have each other to practice on. Clearly Moriarty and I serve a different purpose; I suppose we’ll find out soon enough what our role is.”

Now John was the one who felt perturbed and took Sherlock with him to clean up and have a shower. The hot water was a decadence to stave off the endless chill. When they came out John’s armor was standing near the fireplace, clearly warmed and ready to be donned. He sighed and took Sherlock’s hand, “I’ll need some help.”

Sherlock muttered and cursed his way through getting John buckled in. At least the Keep had provided John with a very unattractive but soft and warm undershirt and stockings. Both were dark brown and seemed to be made of felt, at least, there were no seams and it all seemed matted intricately together. John had simply stripped down to his skin to get into it and Sherlock had to do some of the ties that closed it off but as the taller man cinched buckles and tightened straps he said softly, “You’re very handsome John.”

John felt his cheeks heat and he looked over at Sherlock who looked equally abashed, “Thank you Sherlock.”

Sherlock bit his lower lip and looked a trifle worried, “I feel attracted to you.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if it’s the armor or if I’m getting hungry.”

“ _Oh_.” John could not let himself forget that Sherlock didn’t want this, not really, no matter what permissions he had given. “Well we don’t know for sure right? I mean, the Keep probably wouldn’t have gotten me to put this on if you’re hungry right? It seems to know.”

Sherlock looked relieved, “You’re just handsome then. I’ve always thought so.” John smiled but his heart felt a twang of remorse. Sherlock was even reluctant to give John a compliment without being suspicious of it and despite how he understood it still hurt a bit deep inside. He looked up and Sherlock had his hand pressed over his heart and he was looking at John with dismay, “I’ve hurt you. Something I just said hurt you!”

“It’s not important Sherlock; we should go find Moran and Moriarty.” John smiled up but Sherlock was having none of it.

“No. I hurt you. I can still feel it, here, near my heart. It aches. I hurt your feelings. What did I do John? What did I say and why is it making your heart feel this way?” John was shocked now. Sherlock could feel his feelings? Was there nothing about John that was his own? Sherlock grew extremely distressed looking, “John. It’s getting worse. You’re…you’re really upset now.”

“It’s nothing Sherlock, really.” said John, still making an attempt to brush this aside but Sherlock was not swayed and actually planted his feet and looked stern.

“John, tell me this instant! I’m hurting you. It’s hurting me! _We’re hurting and I need it to stop_!”

Oh god John was hurting Sherlock? John stepped ahead and grasped Sherlock hands, “I’m sorry love, I’m sorry. It’s just….last night when I was taken away Moran and Moriarty were interrupted in the middle of…well more like the beginning of…well…and then you were so worried about being hungry because you know what will happen and I’m….I’m so sorry Sherlock, I can control this. I can.” This wasn’t Sherlock’s problem, he hadn’t asked for any of this except that in a way he had. He’d made some kind of deal, something neither he nor Moriarty seemed to recall beyond that it had been made. Now it looked like Sherlock would not only get to experience his own feelings for which he had no way of dealing, but he also got John’s feelings. The doctor worried a bit and Sherlock looked down at his feet silently.

Sherlock stood there wooden and unmoving, “They have a more normal relationship that we do because Moriarty doesn’t disagree with the idea of sexual intercourse and I do. It’s an integral part of an intimate relationship and I have offered you no hope that you will have anything but the most reluctant parts of me. Oh John! John I’m so sorry, that’s not right, it’s not right at all!” Sherlock put his arms around John and held on tight, “I don’t want you to think that John. I have every intention of working on our relationship properly. John, look at me.” John had been looking at Sherlock’s chest, unwilling to meet his eyes but now he lifted them and saw nothing but sincerity there, “John I may have not wanted this but our lives have significantly changed and sex will be a part of that. It shouldn’t always be because I need to feed! I want as complete a life with you as we can manage, I don’t want you ever to feel like that again. John…my love… my _endless_ love, you will awaken me and teach me what I need to know. We will prepare ourselves together and make the most of the life we’ve been given. I need you to be happy, I love you. Don’t hurt John, please.”

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John tenderly, pressing his mouth firmly to the doctor’s, his long fingered hand cradling the back of John’s head. Something inside John relaxed and the hurt went away, Sherlock might not desire John the same way John desired him, but there had been a definite “not yet” implied in Sherlock’s impassioned speech. John smiled up at his lover, “That helps, knowing that helps.”

Sherlock looked very pleased because he could feel that John did indeed feel better and he kissed John again tenderly, “We’ll begin tonight. I don’t want my next feeding to be a traumatic experience like our first time was. My disinterest in sex is purely mental John, there is no physical reason I cannot enjoy it, I’ve simply never allowed for it. Now I will. You will help.”

“It really must be the armor.” teased John with a small laugh, much relieved with Sherlock’s promise.

“Possibly but I rather think it’s the incredibly attractive warrior inside the amour.” Awkward metal bits or not Sherlock pressed himself as close to John as he could and kissed him again firmly, “I love you John and this is _not_ a problem.”

“Okay. It’s not a problem.” agreed John with a big smile because he believed Sherlock. They’d figure it out and Sherlock would be willing to do it, he wasn’t being forced, he’d thought about it and made up his own mind and that was a huge relief to John. Sherlock got himself warmly dressed, taking care to put on as many layers as he could manage. Heavy fur mittens had shown up tied to long cords which Sherlock looked at with some confusion but that made John laugh loudly, “They’re so you don’t lose them.”

Sherlock huffed and sputtered about the childishness of it all before realizing he’d need to take his mitts off a thousand times a day in this place if he needed to do anything and that the strings were actually very convenient. John bit his lip when Sherlock was finally assembled, “You actually look…well you look rather good in fur.” Sherlock did. He looked decadent and a bit wild at the same time. His long dark curls were inky and showed up clearly against the high collar of his outer robe. Wherever it was that the Keep got its clothing from was skilled but at the same time a bit primitive. Their robes were rough woven wools and expertly tanned hides with the fur thick and luxurious, sturdily constructed but elegantly simple. It suited Sherlock who would never have worn fur before this. He loved animals, certainly far more than he loved people. Still, there wasn’t a choice, they had what they had and Sherlock did get chilled much faster than John. They quickly surmised that it was because John’s body had been made to endure so much more while Sherlock’s was actually closer to being human, minus the beat of his heart.

When they were ready they simply quit the room and began walking. As Sherlock suspected the Keep brought them to a large chamber already fitted with racks on the wall and straw men standing in a row at the far end. Moriarty and Moran showed up mere minutes later. The soldiers eyed one another for a moment then without speaking simply went over to the racks that contained practice equipment and began to discuss their training. Moriarty stood there with Sherlock and both of them looked uncomfortable. Finally Sherlock said, “I suppose we’re supposed to do something too.”

“I guess.” Moriarty looked off into the distance and Sherlock did as well. John kept his ear on them as did Moran, both of them on edge in case their lovers decided to not get along any further. Taking a pair of well-padded quarter-staffs out of a barrel John and Sebastian moved to the center of the floor where John instructed the larger man about grips and balances, “You can do a lot of damage with a staff, and in reality it’s far easier to find a stick to swing that it is to find a sword laying around handy.”

John listened to Sherlock and James speak to one another. He realized he could hear them as if standing right beside them and flickered his gaze up to Sebastian’s face. The tall man nodded, he could hear them too though the vampires were several meters away, “Yeah me too. Fuck this just gets weirder and weirder.” John nodded at the repetition of his own words. “You’re good at this.”

“Lots of the old soldiers at the VA take up hobbies like this and lots of them get work on the side training cosplayers for tournaments and the like. It’s actually kind of interesting. I guess if you hadn’t been so busy killing innocent people for Moriarty you might have picked up some different skills.”

“Don’t even try to hurt my feelings Watson; I’ve never spilled a drop of innocent blood which is more than I can say for the rest of the incompetents Jim had to work with! No matter what it looked like Jim never liked killing people, he avoided it as much as possible, threats were what he used. I only ever killed people that were trying to kill _us_ , don’t tell me you haven’t done the same for Sherlock, I can see it in your face. You’ve killed to keep him alive and you don’t regret it. I can’t say the same for Jim. Each drop of blood on his hands made him crazier over the years. I think that’s why he killed himself that day, he still hasn’t told me out loud but I know that’s why. Jim’s a game-player, moving the pieces around is what he liked, not wrecking them. He’s a planner, an organizer! If people had done what they were supposed to do each of his gambits would have been bloodless. When you work with criminals and thugs though, it’s hard to manage the violence.”

“I don’t care what you say now! He’s still responsible for killing all those people!” Sebastian’s attack with the staff grew fierce and John finally needed to employ some defensive moves to keep him back.

“Jim didn’t want that, aren’t you listening to me? He was totally destroyed inside by the time he fucking shot himself! We worked with loads of shitty people and Jim tried to make sure they all did only as they were told! They didn’t! No one ever does, that’s why he wanted to be with me, _I_ listen to him. _I_ understand what he means and _I_ do exactly what he wants _and then I stop_.”

Both of them slowed down, not realizing they had been moving almost faster than the eye could see as they worked through one form after another without conscious thought. Their bodies knew what to do and while they were distracted with their whispered argument, their bodies had just gotten on with things. John looked up at Moran, “I guess it’s the same for me and Sherlock. I’m the only one who seems to understand what he means most of the time, I help him, and I keep him from going too far.”

“He’s a cold one.”

“He’s really not. Yours is as mad as a hatter.”

“He isn’t. He’s perfectly sane.”

“So’s mine.”

“That’s not what he says.”

“He’s not a sociopath. Yours is a lunatic.”

“There’s a fine line between genius and madness Watson.”

“I guess I’m Sherlock’s.”

“And I guess I’m Jim’s.”

For a long time it was almost like a dance. Moran would attack and John would defend, or sometimes the other way around. Each of them had advantages and weaknesses and both soldiers made note of that. Despite the difference in their size though they seemed perfectly matched against one another, John’s speed and dexterity counter-balanced by Moran’s greater reach and astounding flexibility. They tested each other out, attacking one part of their bodies after another carefully, exploring the advantages and disadvantages of their chosen weapon.

Both of them stopped fighting, their bodies sweat soaked and weary. The moves had come naturally to them, the steps and the swings, the clatter of wood on wood. It felt like they were simply going through the motions, warming up to remind themselves that they knew how to do all these things, and simply needed to limber up for the next phase of their existence.

Sebastian suddenly stopped and before he could pull back his blow John whacked Moran solidly on the hip. The taller man was looking at Moriarty so John turned curiously. Moriarty was standing there and he had a peculiar look on his face, intense and feral. “Watson. Get Holmes out of here.” Moran dropped his quarter-staff and began methodically stripping off his armor, “Go. _Now_. Jim’s hungry.”

Sherlock shied away from Moriarty and John was by his side in an instant, just long enough to see Moriarty turn and hiss menacingly at Sherlock. They backed away and Moriarty watched them, his eyes hard and flat until Sherlock was beyond the doorway. Once they were both in the hallway the door slammed shut solidly and there was a ringing silence. Sherlock stood there slightly shocked but pushed the door open immediately. The room was bare, empty of practice equipment and people, “I guess they’re back in their chamber.”

The Keep made them walk back but neither Sherlock nor John minded. They held hands and kept each other silent company as their thoughts ranged and churned. When they got back to their room Sherlock helped John remove his armor and padding, settling everything in a heap on the floor. He chased John right into the shower, “You are ripe!” he declared and waited until John had washed all over at least once before joining him. When they got out, pink and steamy, a hot meal was waiting for them and John ate heartily once again.

It wasn’t until they’d finished enjoying their tea that Sherlock surprised John. Without a word of warning the tall man shifted and settled himself on John’s lap, his long legs allowing him to kneel easily over John, his plush behind near John’s knees. “I suspect we don’t have a lot of time to be coy or chivalrous about this John, but I would like to proceed on our own terms as much as possible. I know nothing of romance or seduction so I will just plainly say I am interested in engaging in sex with you.”

“What, right now?” John was more than a little startled because Sherlock was nodding seriously, “Why now?”

“Sometime later today or tomorrow perhaps I will need to feed. I won’t want to wait and I’ve already enjoyed the after-effects of that lovely impulse. I’d rather not do that again. You said there were things we could do beforehand that would help and I believe you, but I’ve also decided that I would prefer that you not stop at just preparing me. I want to have sex with you while I am largely in control of myself so you can know that I’m sincere when I say you can do with me as you wish during feeding times.”

“Are you sure?” this still didn’t feel quite right to John but Sherlock nodded firmly and sat back, clearly waiting for John’s answer. The soldier thought it over. He could wait and show Sherlock in gentle increments the way he’d wanted to but the vampire was right, when it came for their first feeding time Sherlock would want sex on the instant, he’d enjoy himself no matter how it hurt, and John would as well. Sherlock’s flesh deserved more than animalistic rutting. The tall man wanted this experience to be something they chose, not just something they did because there was no option. John nodded and Sherlock smiled, “Can I take you to bed then?”

“If you please John,” Sherlock leaned in and kissed John softly, “I do like touching you John, and I do like kissing you. Take me to bed and let’s see what else I like doing with you.”

John stood easily, lifting Sherlock who weighed practically nothing compared to what John could bear now. Sherlock wrapped his long legs around John’s waist and grinned a bit foolishly, “I rather enjoy this.”

“I bet you do you egomaniac. Don’t think I’m carrying you everywhere just because I can.” John was heartened by the happy expression on Sherlock’s face. He didn’t look like he was reluctant at all! He looked warm and pleased with himself, his long limbs twining themselves easily around John who had his hands on Sherlock’s behind to brace him. Sherlock bent his neck a bit and snuffled into John’s ear which made him laugh and twist just as they got to the bed. They tumbled onto it giggling and trying to hold onto one another.

John had to leave the bed to get the lube out of the bathroom, it was icy cold but a few minutes on the hearth sorted it out and John returned, drawing the drapes mostly closed so it was dim and intimate, but still partially lit from the flickering flames. Sherlock knelt on the bed and stripped off one layer at a time until he was entirely bare, dropping everything on the floor before crawling under their thick blankets to wait for John. Taking a deep breathe the soldier followed suit, discarding everything he was wearing and moving quickly to get himself as covered up as possible. Sherlock moved close, pressing his long hard body against John’s and shivering a bit, “Whenever you’re ready John.”

John looked over at the man he was about to claim as his lover, “You’re sure?”

“I’m absolutely sure.”

John moved in and began with a kiss. It was soft and gentle and when it was over John whispered, “I do love you, you know that right?”

“I know it John. That’s why this will be beautiful.” with those words Sherlock pulled John as close to him as he could get and deepened the kiss. Neither man noticed the sweet perfume in the air as incense burned, nor heard shudder and groan of stone on stone as the Keep adjusted itself. They were already lost in one another, their flesh straining for closeness; their mouths glued together, John’s heart pounding in his chest for both of them.


	6. Willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has had his doubts and worries but Sherlock seems intent on assuaging them as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAUTION - NSFW

Having set his mind to the task Sherlock spared himself not a jot, exploring John with as much curiosity and fervor as the doctor explored him. His hands were hesitant at first but it didn’t take Sherlock long to relax. The blankets they were beneath were heavy but necessary, the chill of their room was daunting but both men soon forgot about the cold as their mutual caresses inflamed them both. John was delighted with the ease with which Sherlock partook of the act; he seemed determined and receptive to everything John tried, mirroring John’s movements, and encouraging the doctor to continue. John wanted to savor Sherlock so the soldier slowed his young lover down, drawing the kisses out until Sherlock was pliant beneath him, his hands stroking over John’s back, “I feel warm.” said Sherlock softly, “Inside too. I feel warm. You love me.”

“I do.”

“I can feel it.”

“I’m glad.” In many ways John was a sensualist. He couldn’t afford to indulge his proclivities during his old life but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a fine appreciation of things he did have access to. He’d had quite the reputation in the army, one that had been earned not because of his looks, or his attributes though those were generous, John’s skills had been one of endless adorations for the small details that made each individual up. He dotted loving kisses all over Sherlock’s face and neck, whispering small compliments until Sherlock was blushing and breathing a bit heavier than normal. The texture of Sherlock’s skin delighted the soldier, as did the small sounds Sherlock made as John ghosted his lips over each area tenderly, allowing Sherlock the time to feel each thing clearly before the doctor moved along.

“John…I can feel how you see me…it’s…you think I’m _beautiful_.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with awe and wonder and John simply nodded, he did think that and he was glad Sherlock could feel that about him. Sherlock’s body had always struck John as remarkable, especially in light of the fact that Sherlock didn’t seem to even notice he had a body, indifferently caring for himself only enough to satisfy the most minimal of his needs. Now John had the right to ensure Sherlock did enjoy his flesh, that there would never be a time in the possibly never-ceasing years in front of them that Sherlock didn’t know what his body could be made to feel, the pleasures they could enjoy together. Now John’s caresses grew skillfully more ardent, gently stroking and kissing Sherlock everywhere, spending time finding all of Sherlock’s most sensitive spots until the tall lean man was nearly writhing beneath the soldier. John allowed himself to feel everything acutely, admiring Sherlock’s long lines and awkward elegance. John knelt between Sherlock’s legs which willingly spread wide but all he did was lean forward to run the tip of his nose slowly up Sherlock’s body, starting at his navel and eventually ending at Sherlock’s mouth.

As John kissed Sherlock he allowed his hands to drift over that smooth, barely haired chest, gently rubbing Sherlock’s nipples in passing, and kissing the gasps from his lips, “I love you.” said John before kissing Sherlock deeply, allowing his hands to wander further and further downward until he was stroking the inside of Sherlock’s thighs. Then John kissed his way back down, mouthing over Sherlock’s neck, deliberately sucking small marks in the same location where Sherlock would eventually bite John, it made Sherlock shudder rapturously.

John finally allowed his hands to wander more intimately over Sherlock. He was gratifyingly hard as was John, his uncircumcised cock thick and glistening at the tip. Sherlock’s pubic hair was dark, but had a definite ginger caste to it, framing the heavy pale column that rose from it perfectly. Sherlock’s foreskin was only partially retracted, the head of his cock still well hidden except for the shy glimpse of his slit and John’s mouth watered, “I want to taste you.”

“Oh god.” gasped Sherlock, nodding instantly, “I…I don’t know what I want John but I very much would like you to touch me. Now. Please.” the soldier realized that Sherlock was feeling John’s desire for him as well as the desire that was all his own. John could _feel_ it growing and closed his eyes for a moment as a storm of sensory information flooded him. Sherlock was afire with want, John could feel the heat of lust manifesting from deep within the tall man, the gut-wrenching need that he felt for John, and the love, oh god _the love_! It shone inside Sherlock like a great gold light that filled him from head to toe and John wanted to weep from the beauty of it. He’d had no idea, no idea at all how important he was to his lover. Sherlock felt so much, he wanted _so much_. John’s caresses had done exactly as Sherlock had requested, he’d been awakened and now he was becoming impatient for more, almost unable to bear John’s languorous pace. John had to breathe carefully and he felt a note of concern from Sherlock, “John, what is it?”

John had to swallow and breathe for a moment. It was dizzying and amazing and arousing and almost too much, “I can feel you.” John leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s hip and felt his body react as if it was his own. Both men groaned. How much could he bear? This was going to be _incredible_. “God I can feel everything you feel.” The blankets slid away but neither man noticed that the air was warm and almost balmy now; they were too engrossed in one another.

Now John dragged his tongue across Sherlock’s belly and moaned with Sherlock as small tingles began to build. Taking Sherlock’s cock in hand almost undid John, and when he stroked his hand up and down to smooth the precum over his shaft John shuddered with Sherlock at the intensity of arousal they were feeling and they were just getting started. “F…f…fingers.” stuttered Sherlock and John nodded, trying to slow his racing heart.

“I will love, wait, let me do this the right way.” Sherlock was a little too eager and so was John who wanted nothing more than to drive himself right in and take Sherlock savagely and because John wanted it, Sherlock wanted it too. Some part of both of them wanted to indulge in the reckless rage of passion they’d first enjoyed but John disciplined himself, overriding his animal needs and focusing on the man in front of him. He’d never hurt Sherlock on purpose, no, not ever. Slowly their passions reigned in, still flowing hot and heavy, but running deep, almost unrippling with the concentration John was able to bring to bear, his strength as both a soldier and a doctor, his ability to remove himself from everything and _focus_.

Sherlock trembled beneath John as the soldier bent his head and pressed gentle kisses along Sherlock’s cock, introducing one new sensation after another until Sherlock was able to deal with how it felt to have John’s tongue slide sensuously over his head, teasing the foreskin with his lips as his fingers roamed. Sherlock’s testicles were already drawing up, but John wasn’t ready for him to come so soon. Tonguing his way down John explored Sherlock’s balls, before shifting his position, moving his lover easily as John readjusted their bodies.

Now John’s knees were wide and Sherlock was resting mostly on his shoulders, his back against John’s thighs, his knees spread high and wide, as exposed to John as he could possibly get. John’s heart began to beat hard again as he looked down at Sherlock, “So beautiful.” Sherlock was. His face was flushed with passion, his ribs heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He looked vulnerable and hungry at the same time, nervously twitching but also clearly wishing John would just get going.

John bent his head now, his hands keeping Sherlock in position as he began to toy and play with Sherlock, teasing him in tiny increments until the tall man was gasping and begging. John let his tongue wiggle provocatively, pressing inward just a bit and Sherlock trembled all over once again, “Please John…you know what I want.”

John did. Sherlock wanted John to ride him as hard as he could until they both came but John had a purpose and he kept using his tongue. He knew a great deal about the human body and his hands were steady as he finally began to prepare Sherlock to receive him. Sherlock didn’t know how to control his passions now that they were ignited but John did and so with the restraint for which he was so famed the soldier began.

Lube was generously applied and John let his fingers wander, pressing and stroking, letting the pads of his fingertips just glide over Sherlock’s flesh. He drew small circles, teasing Sherlock delicately until he finally pushed the tip of his first finger in. Both men groaned. John could feel what it was like, and to his amazement Sherlock was not resisting him. He wanted more, and so John allowed his finger to press further and further, each draw and plunge a little more daring than the last until Sherlock’s hips were nearly trembling for want of more. John groaned again when he carefully pushed a second finger in, the almost impossibly tight grip of Sherlock’s body finally struggling against the intrusion and John slowed as he felt the stretch happening too quickly. He backed off and used a single finger for a moment before beginning again.

Their whole world became centered around John’s hand and how it breached Sherlock’s body. Both men could feel what was happening with crystal clarity. John closed his eyes and allowed his hand to follow the cues of Sherlock’s body and soon was able to move onto a third finger. When John crooked his fingers and stroked delicately across his prostate Sherlock shook his head, it was too much too soon so John backed away. Sherlock was moaning softly now, his back twisting a bit, his cock lying heavily on his belly. Even curled up like this Sherlock looked almost innocent, his eyes wide and staring blindly as he did nothing but simply feel for the first time ever. John could see how Sherlock’s mind had calmed and focused much like John’s had. “Please John, I can’t wait any longer.”

“Turn over then.” John found his voice was almost gruff, he wanted to see Sherlock this first time but it would be easier for the younger man if he were in a more advantageous position. Sherlock was very eager and in a blink he was on his hands and knees, nearly purring with anticipation as he presented himself. John groaned and feasted his eyes on the display. Sherlock had his knees spread wide enough that John would have no trouble reaching him, and had instinctively dropped down to his chest, his back arched, and his hands knotted into the bed sheets.

John smoothed a liberal amount of lube both onto himself and to Sherlock. Sherlock’s toes were already curled, and as John rubbed the head of his cock over Sherlock’s entrance the soldier could feel him tense, Sherlock was suddenly anxious and fearful of the pain he was sure would come. John leaned over and pressed kisses to Sherlock’s spine, allowing his hands to wander reassuringly over his back. Sherlock nearly hummed his approval of the caresses and arched his back once again. Positioning himself and taking a deep breath John paused for a moment because Sherlock’s body was already so hot, the wet heat beckoning the doctor, he allowed himself to slide over it several times first before using his already slick hand to press down just as his hips pushed cautiously forward, “Oh god John!”

John could feel how Sherlock tried to accept him but that it was a struggle not to reject John’s blunt width. John’s confidence that Sherlock could handle it soothed the younger man until his body relaxed some more and John was able to continue. With a firm press of his thumb John managed to work the head of his cock in, moaning at the tightness that swallowed him up. He could feel how Sherlock’s muscles stretched and pulled open to allow him entrance, felt the near-burn of newness as his cock was grudgingly accommodated. “You can take it.” he whispered, knowing the crudity of his words would inflame the normally very proper younger man.

“No. It’s too much.” Sherlock wanted more but he was afraid for a moment, still remembering the pain he’d been in after the first time.

“Yes you can, you’re ready, I’ve already fucked you, you took my cock and you rode me until I came inside you. Now I want to ride you and feel you come before I come in you again.” the image in John’s mind of Sherlock riding him wantonly triggered a dark wave of lust similar to what he’d felt while Sherlock had taken him that first time and the man beneath him groaned and pushed back, now too eager, “Slowly.” cautioned the doctor.

Sherlock bore down and John held himself perfectly still, allowing Sherlock to work himself back and forth little by little. The soldier couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Sherlock taking him in one careful inch at a time, his body stretched and almost at its limit. John could feel how each slow move loosened Sherlock a tiny bit more as the taller man adjusted to the new sensations. Now that they had begun Sherlock was more confident, apart from a moment of stinging stretch there had been no pain and now everything felt wonderfully overfull. The tight grip of Sherlock’s body around John’s was addictive and intoxicating, John wanted to be in Sherlock forever, this was pure bliss.

John could feel Sherlock so much. The taller man was completely lost in the feel of being taken, he was experiencing a sense of completion, a connection that seemed to satisfy something deep inside Sherlock. John closed his eyes and felt the long years of loneliness that Sherlock had lived through, felt the dismal passage of time as Sherlock nearly destroyed himself to keep his sanity. Now he felt ecstatically possessed, loved, desired, needed, and the younger man was overwhelmed with all of it. John leaned forward and kissed as much of Sherlock’s skin as he could reach, “I do love you.” he hardly needed to say it now. Sherlock could feel it just as John could feel Sherlock’s love for him. Still, Sherlock had lived so long without hearing those words being spoken to him that John wanted to fill all the quiet moments with words of love to make up for it.

John trailed his hands back until he was holding Sherlock’s hips. He adjusted his stance carefully before pulling back. Sherlock groaned as John nearly left him. John held still for a long moment before pushing back in slowly but steadily, not pausing until he had buried himself as far as he could get. Both men trembled and shook. John soothed Sherlock with loving caresses before resuming his grip and beginning to move.

It was unreal. John knew exactly how to rock faster when Sherlock needed it, how to push in deep and hold still or when to begin moving a little less cautiously. When Sherlock was huffing out almost pained breaths John carefully angled himself and pressed carefully against Sherlock’s prostate, “Oh!” John felt sparks going off inside him as the intense jolt of pleasure shocked both of them. It wasn’t unpleasant for Sherlock this time; John’s slow tease had allowed Sherlock to learn to process the experience, to manage it somewhat while still being lost to the pleasure of it all. John wasn’t asking anything of him, he simply wanted Sherlock to feel so Sherlock did.

John adjusted how he was positioned, pulling Sherlock’s hips high as John knelt over him, stuffing a pillow quickly beneath Sherlock to brace him. Now when John pushed back in they both groaned again at the shift in sensation, “Oh god, yeah, this is good.” Sherlock just spread his knees a little bit wider and panted into the pillow.

John braced himself on his fists, crouched over Sherlock, almost kneeling on his calves as he began to thrust slow and deep. His balls already felt heavy and full and in this position they were beginning to slap rudely against Sherlock’s perineum and it seemed to be driving the taller man wild. He was grunting out soft little sounds which John found he liked very much and he wanted to hear more so he began to thrust a tiny bit faster, snapping his hips a bit so that his flesh smacked into Sherlock’s noisily. Once again the raw earthiness of it all was Sherlock’s undoing and John could feel Sherlock simply melt into a near mindless state of pure delight, he was ready now, ready for John.

John drew back as far as he could and then drove himself in hard. Sherlock shouted and quivered from head to toe. He’d almost spent himself and John grinned. His own cock was throbbing with the need to come but John wasn’t done yet. Holding himself deeply buried John gyrated his hips a bit and Sherlock shouted again. John could feel Sherlock’s cock nearly jump each time John twisted, the head of his cock pressing and shifting inside the tall man’s body, working against his prostate torturously. Sherlock’s thighs were shaking and he was moaning under his breath, long deep shivering cries that could easily be mistake for intense pain except John could feel how much Sherlock was enjoying what was being done to him.

Sherlock’s head was twisted a bit to the side and John could see his multi-colored eyes casting back and forth blindly as he approached orgasm. “That’s it love, just let it go, it’s okay, I’ve got you love, I’ve got you, you can do this…you can…shh love shh….I’m here.” John was crooning as Sherlock’s eyebrows climbed and his whole body grew rigid, his skin flushing pink everywhere. Sherlock’s hands were knotted into the sheets and his mouth was slightly open. He didn’t seem to be breathing, just trembling, his thighs shaking so hard now John was having a hard time maintaining his stroke.

John resumed sliding directing inward, his thrusts hard and steady, growing more rapid. Suddenly Sherlock exhaled gustily, “Now!” he shouted and his eyes rolled back into his head, a long strangled cry being choked out as Sherlock collapsed into a jerking, shuddering, spurting, spasming heap. John kept fucking him hard, wringing out each wave of pleasure from Sherlock, relishing each and every agonized breath that Sherlock dragged in as he came so hard that John was convinced the man would lose consciousness. It was a close call for John and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Without delay John sat on Sherlock’s now closed thighs and braced his hands on either side of Sherlock’s heaving ribs and began to pound into his lover as hard and as fast as he could. His balls had tightened up and Sherlock felt so hot inside, so wet still, so slick and yielding, and gripping John just exactly the right amount. His hips flashed as he finally gave into the need he’d felt this entire time. John didn’t hold back, not a bit. His breath was rough and loudly ragged, and when John came his cry was almost a roar, one filled with possessive satisfaction as the warrior claimed his mate, filling Sherlock with every drop of seed he could give him. Each pulsing throb made both of them shudder together, John’s hips still moving him slow and deep for a long time until John finally fell forward and rested on Sherlock’s back.

Time seemed to hold still for them. John stayed on Sherlock’s back for what seemed ages but eventually moved himself away, using kisses to sooth Sherlock who didn’t like the feeling of separation. More kisses were shared on the way to the shower, neither man noticing the comfortable temperature of the chamber, or the plush new towels that waited for them, or the fact that the hand milled soap had been specially scented with all of their favorite fragrances. Instead John and Sherlock washed each other all over, their kisses almost unceasing as they enjoyed the blissful aftermath. John smiled when they finally left the bathroom, finally looking around wryly. “You know this isn’t the worse place in the world.”

Sherlock looked around too, “It is very convenient in some aspects, I do agree.” their bed was freshly made, it looked crisp, clean, and inviting. “It’s warm in here.”

John looked around as if he could see the difference in temperature and laughed at himself. It was warm, they were standing in their skins and it wasn’t troubling either of them. That was nice. There were also soft robes waiting for them, so tying them on they sat down on their sofa and looked around, “This place is really trying to make us comfortable.” There was an extra thick carpet in front of the fireplace, and suspiciously conveniently, a bottle of warmed massage oil, “I’m not complaining.”

John spread out some towels and got Sherlock to lay face down on them in front of the flames. John straddled Sherlock’s thighs, both men bare-naked, and smoothed on the lightly scented oil, working over Sherlock’s muscles, especially near his hips, and deep into the meaty thigh muscles until Sherlock was lax and resting easily. Using his thumbs John spread Sherlock wide to inspect him, Sherlock was a bit pinker than was possibly normal but otherwise he seemed unharmed by their enthusiastic bout. For a moment John was tempted to lean down and begin giving Sherlock soothing kisses but that would likely lead to another round, and Sherlock needed to recuperate a bit before he was compelled to feed. It couldn’t be much longer now.

“Let me do you.” asked Sherlock lazily. John thought that was a fine idea too and soon they had switched places and John groaned contentedly as Sherlock’s long hard fingers worked out kinks and sore spots John hadn’t even realized were there. Sherlock seemed to enjoy the process, lovingly working over one muscle group at a time until John was nearly purring with contentment, especially when Sherlock draped himself over the soldier and cuddled to his back, “I love you John. That was the most incredible experience of my life.”

“I’ve changed your mind have I?” asked John with a soft smile, his eyes closed as he soaked in the heat of his lover’s body.

“Completely.”

Their skins were still a bit slick from the oil and Sherlock seemed to enjoy sliding back and forth, just rubbing their bodies together and savoring the closeness they felt. Sherlock sat back and John felt a dribble of oil spill onto the curve of his back, followed by Sherlock’s hands which swept the excess of oil downward, boldly parting John’s cheeks to slick them. John lay there, relaxed and trusting as Sherlock lay his still flaccid cock against John’s cleft and rocked back and forth curiously. It felt nice for both of them, not exactly arousing but intimate. John was content to let Sherlock play as he would, fucking his limp cock against John’s entrance, just to see what it felt like. That this was such a typical Sherlock thing to do made John smile broadly. He’d missed the endless curiosity that was an integral part of Sherlock’s personality. John lay his head on his arms and rocked his hips invitingly, “Do you want me?”

Sherlock paused for a moment but the almost instantaneous thickening of his cock was answer enough for John, “You wouldn’t mind John?” John thought for a moment. At no point in his life had he considered himself gay or even bisexual. His love and attraction for Sherlock had been based on the man’s breathtaking intelligence, his overwhelming personality, and the dedication Sherlock had to the craft that he loved. When it came to sex with Sherlock John felt no hesitation.

The love he felt for Sherlock was complete, and it didn’t matter how it manifested physically, just as long as it did. The thought of Sherlock taking him was not an unwelcome one, in fact, the thought of being on that thick pale shaft was very, very appealing to him now that he’d experienced it through Sherlock. He spread his legs a tiny bit and rocked back meaningfully. “I’d love it.” Sherlock played for a moment more, his cock almost entirely hard, enough so that when Sherlock nudged against John’s entrance it was firm enough to make both men moan appreciatively.

It didn’t take them long to make it back to the bed, John on his knees while Sherlock knelt behind him. Both of them felt impatient, Sherlock dribbling a copious amount of lube onto John and swirling the tip of his finger firmly over John. It felt strange but good at the same time, and almost too soon Sherlock was pressing his finger inward. John found he was greedy for it and pushed back, enjoying the feel of being stretched and penetrated. Sherlock withdrew for only a moment, pouring a few drops of lube onto John before beginning to use two fingers. John was impatient yet again, perversely enjoying the near painful rush of it, liking how it felt to be forced a bit. The stinging only lasted for a moment and John realized his fast healing body could accommodate any amount of rough play they chose.

Sherlock seemed to come to this realization at the same time and his growl was almost predatory. John felt even more lube being dribbled on, heard Sherlock’s hand slide wetly over the now fully developed erection he was sporting. John felt Sherlock hesitate, felt the young vampire’s concern, “Even if it hurts I’m going to love it, I want this Sherlock. Don’t be afraid, you can’t damage me.” Still, even as willing as he was it took a long minute to work the head of Sherlock’s cock inside, both of them groaning as Sherlock finally managed to push enough to make it most of the tip all the way in. It hurt gloriously and John felt his own cock harden, this was turning him on in a way he’d never expected.

“You are utterly perfect John.” whispered Sherlock, his fingers gripping painfully tight to John’s hips. Sherlock paused for a second then pulled John firmly backward, pushing himself unhesitatingly deep. John shouted, the pain was intense but at the same time the hot burning sensation seemed to flicker and merge with the just as intense sensation of pleasure. Sherlock moaned, “Oh god you _like_ it.”

John’s body was adjusting almost instantly. The pain melted away and left John hyper-sensitive. “Apparently I do.” Sherlock drew back and without hesitating shoved straight back in. John shouted again and Sherlock moaned, “More.” gasped John. Sherlock adjust his position a bit, spreading his knees, and pulling John up onto his hands. John felt Sherlock’s hands return to his hips and then the young vampire really began. His thrusts were deep and rapid; John’s moans were shaky and plentiful as his whole body simply shook with the repeated impact.

Sherlock wasn’t as strong as John but he was obviously far stronger than the average human. He pulled John back against his chest, spreading the soldier’s knees wide so his back was against Sherlock’s chest and he was completely impaled on Sherlock’s cock, unable to move. John loved the feel of it, Sherlock was so deep inside him, it felt new and strange. John could feel the strain of his muscles as they stretched and healed almost instantaneously, allowing the pleasurable feelings to grow astonishingly fast. John reached down and cupped himself, stroking hard as Sherlock began to thrust upward at a rapid pace. Sherlock’s face was buried against the back of John’s neck and John could feel the urgency suddenly peak, “John! Oh god John!”

The feel of Sherlock’s cock throbbing deep inside him, his thick shaft providing the perfect amount of pressure in all the right places triggered John’s orgasm and he shook and groaned along with Sherlock. It wasn’t as intense as the orgasm they’d shared earlier but it was still powerful enough to make both of them slump over to lay on their side, Sherlock’s hips jerking inward spasmodically as he rode it out. As Sherlock pulled out carefully John noted he felt raw and worn out but only for a moment, his body healed quickly and he wasn’t troubled at all by the rather enthusiastic sex they’d just had. Sherlock flopped back onto the bed, “I need to sleep.”

“Shower first.” insisted John though he was ready to close his eyes and just pass out. The bed was sticky again and even if John’s body healed quickly it wouldn’t feel very nice to wake up later still crusty. Reluctantly Sherlock rolled out of bed and staggered to the shower. They made it quick and perfunctory, towelling off half-heartedly before taking themselves back to bed, “This has been an amazing night.” said John drowsily as they tucked themselves together under the heavy blankets, drapes drawn tight.

All through the Keep the dim light grew a bit brighter. The stones seemed less gray, their edges not so worn and rough looking, the icy cold that emanated from them seemed to lessen. Dozens of other small changes happened, all radiating away from the chamber where the lovers now lay lost in slumber. Hallways were less stark, the architecture becoming more sophisticated, curving and arching where once there had only been rough straight lines and endless repetition. The grumble and slide of stone against stone once again echoed through unhearing hallways as the Keep changed once more before settling back into silence for the rest of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read a lot of different things. Here: http://www.wired.com/2012/03/connectome-brain-map/
> 
> I'm not flogging science as a life choice, honestly I noticed the pretty colors before I read the article.


	7. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have enjoyed a wonderful and unusually rewarding night together.

The next morning they woke up happy and in love. Sherlock stretched easily, untroubled by their exertions of the day before, and he caressed John boldly now. John was very happy, Sherlock was full of life, laughing and teasing as they used the bathroom and spoiled themselves with another shower. It didn’t seem odd to be experiencing two sets of sensations, it seemed right and natural to both men now, it felt like this was how they had always meant to communicate with one another. So many of their connections to one another were wordless ones, and now their bond was as complete as it could possibly be. It made both of them ecstatic. Neither John nor Sherlock realized how much Sherlock’s choice to stay sexually inactive had inhibited him. Now Sherlock felt free to caress, to admire, and to appreciate John and he was almost childishly pleased about it. They ate a leisurely and extremely hearty breakfast before John had to climb back into his armor, “I want to look at the armory. I didn’t take the time before.” said Sherlock.

“Well maybe the Keep will bring you there. It’s just a lot of old armor though, do you know much about it?” John was moving his arm carefully, rotating it to make sure his buckles weren’t pinching and that he still had a full range of motion. Sherlock adjusted things here and there for a silent minute.

“No but I can read up on it, these books were provided to us for a reason. This place has a purpose, and we are clearly a part of it. We don’t know how much time the Keep will give us to prepare for the blood moon. It could be two weeks, it could happen tomorrow or even today, we don’t know. I do know a great deal about metals, but for now I’ll settle for merely looking over the selection. Perhaps there’s a clue to be found.”

“Well at least you’ll have something to do while I’m busy being beaten to a pulp.” sighed John. He did a bit of a wiggle, bending and twisting to check for limitations or any problem areas. It was bulky but John could deal with the weight easily. “I don’t really like the idea of you being off by yourself though.”

“I know John, perhaps we can go look at it later then, together.” John could feel that Sherlock didn’t really want to be away from John any more than John wanted his lover away from him, not if it could be helped. They’d spent enough time apart in John’s view, and Sherlock could feel the pain of that separation even if he hadn’t experienced it himself. He looked up at John, “I still don’t recall anything from before.”

“It’ll come back or it won’t. We’ll deal with what we have in front of us for now.” Making sure Sherlock was bundled up heavily despite how warm it was in their room John gave the taller man a kiss and took him by the hand, “Off we go then.”

The Keep was generous and brought them to the practice room only a short stroll later. Sherlock paused and John felt his momentary unease, “Everything is so changeable here. We don’t actually know where we are in the Keep do we? The corridors all look the same, the empty rooms all look the same.” Sherlock was pensive as he examined the minute changes that had occurred overnight and he wondered about them. John could feel the never-ending curiosity churning over all the details as Sherlock compared his earlier observances regarding their environment and reconciled them with the new facts.

“Like you said, this place operates on different rules than what we’re used to. So far it hasn’t been too terrible.” It almost felt like the Keep was just getting the hang of hospitality, it kept trying to make everything a little more appealing for its residents but always within certain limitations. Nothing even remotely technical had shown up, not anywhere.

Sebastian and James were already inside and John could see how Moriarty lit up as he looked up into the taller man’s face. His smile was as open and loving as Sherlock’s was when he looked at John and Moran eyes were twinkling with mirth and affection. “Go on baby, show off for me,” teased the former criminal mastermind, “Show me how you rock the Tin Man look.”

“Fuck off Jim, this shit is as uncomfortable as all get out. Get your ass over here.” Moran didn’t hesitate to grab up the much smaller man to lift him into a very thorough and demanding kiss. Moriarty was flushed and biting his lower lip when a very satisfied Moran finally set him back down, “Go have fun. Play nice.”

With a last flirtatious smile Moriarty turned on his heel. The smile dropped off his face and he glowered at Sherlock but stalked off to the side of the room. There was a wide arched entrance there and John was only mildly surprised to see the armory on display, “Well that’s convenient.”

“The library is over there too John.” Sherlock pointed and shelves very similar to the ones in their room lined yet a different wall, complete with a broad table with two bright lamps on it, and four chairs. “I guess this is what we’re doing while you two hit each other.”

“Well, let me know if you find the answers to the secrets of the universe alright? I’m just going to go stand over here and look foolish.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave John a kiss very similar to the one Sebastian had given James. John was smiling broadly when Sherlock finally pulled back, “See, I told you it was the armor.”

Sherlock looked down at John almost haughtily, “Get sweaty. I like that.” Sherlock instantly turned on his heel and followed Moriarty to the far room. John kept grinning and watched his lover stride away arrogantly. So, Sherlock liked to see him sweaty did he? That explained all the times Sherlock had stopped John for a quick word each and every time he’d come back from a run and was heading to the shower to clean up. John grinned again, how many years they had wasted on dancing around their very obvious desire for each other. Well, they’d make up for it now.

“Finished daydreaming Watson?”

“No. Give me a minute.” John deliberately stood there just staring at Sherlock, his eyes lingering on Sherlock’s generous behind before turning to face Moran. “Okay I’m done. What’s on for today?”

“We’re throwing shit, look at the selection.” There were racks off to the side filled with spears, axes, darts, and all manner of similar weapons. The wall furthest from the door had straw men again, these ones with small targets attached to the head, the chest, the arms, the knees. “I’ve thrown knives but the rest of it…” they looked at everything dubiously.

“I’ve done a bit of practice stuff with spears once or twice; I don’t even know what that thing is.” John pointed to a piece that had several curved angles on it, the handle in the middle of a branching of blades. It seemed awkward and as dangerous to the user as the potential victim. Most of the weapons on display were metal but many of them were fashioned from wood, or bone, antler, and even stone in some instances. John picked up a heavy cord with three stones fixed at one end, “We could brain ourselves with this!”

“That’s not really the goal though is it Watson.” Moran looked over the selection. “Let’s start with what we’re familiar with and work our way to the weird stuff.” That left them with only a small selection but gamely both men got themselves organized and because they were soldiers, men of battle, warriors, and standing in front of their lovers it got competitive instantly. “Know anything about throwing knives?” asked Moran with a grin that was filled with teeth and zero pleasantry.

“Not really, I knew people that did it, there was a woman I met when I was in the army that did it, but it was just parlor tricks she said. She’d never bother with it in a fight.” John wasn’t intimidated. He seldom was. Moriarty had tried it when he was certifiable and John had just shaken it off. Mycroft had tried it and John had to stop himself from laughing in the civil servant’s face. John didn’t even twitch; he knew seventeen different ways of seriously hurting Moran without needing a single weapon apart from his fingers. What John lacked in mass as a warrior he made up for in the acquisition of diverse skills. Moran could posture and try to threaten John all day if that’s what entertained him. It would take more than Moriarty’s junk-yard dog to scare him.

“True enough but as an intimidation tactic it’s effective. Again, bloodless, I know what you think of me and Jim but there’s way worse people out in the world than us boyo. Jim’s spun control over a hundred situations that would have been a million times worse if he hadn’t been there. Don’t be such a prude, there’s no such thing as black and white when it comes to being good or bad. You like to think you’re a good man, that Sherlock is a good man, especially compared to me and Jim but are you really? Like it or not Watson we’re all here together. This place wants something from us.” John didn’t have anything to say to that because it was patently obvious even to him that this last statement was so and the rest of it made John feel uncomfortably close to admitting that the large man was correct. Moran dropped the discussion and held up a throwing knife and patiently talked John through the process. He explained the difference in grip, the arc of his arm as he threw, the distance from the target and accuracy, “This is a show throw, remember that. You’re not going to be stabbing someone through the heart from a distance or something like that but maybe you can cut a wire that needs cutting or do something to attract attention where it’s needed, or a thousand and one useful things. Watch.”

Moran was graceful and deadly accurate. When John tried he barely managed to get the knife to fly across the distance, it didn’t even make it to the target which was perfectly unmolested on its straw man. Moran just went and got it, lecturing John on his stance and grip once again, explaining about how to time his release, and after making sure John was holding it correctly he got John to throw again. This time it sank firmly into the target, if at the edge. Once John got the hang of it they practiced in earnest, learning to adjust their weight and move about while still hitting their intended target precisely. John ended up being very skilled at moving and throwing so Sebastian took up a spear and began testing John’s ability to defend himself and still make a throw. Both men stopped time and time again to discuss footing, disadvantages, and possible scenarios before they moved onto other items they’d selected.

They could hear Sherlock and James arguing heatedly in the background but Sherlock merely felt annoyed and not angry so John chalked it up to a debate and kept sparring with Moran. The vampires were going through the inventory and seemed to be having extended discussions about each piece they examined. John tried to keep his awareness of his lover to a background buzz because they had moved onto spears now, practicing different throwing techniques, and trying out some of the stranger spears they found. John rather liked the spear-thrower but it took a lot of skill. He set it aside to practice with more later, and both men looked at the various edged pieces that remained, “This circular stuff, I think I’ve seen that in India. The pointy stuff…well that could be from anywhere, I guess we just go through it all and see if we can figure out how to use it.” Some were clearly throwing stars, even if they weren’t all star-shaped. Everything seemed to be made out of every configuration of metal imaginable, the edges all razor sharp and gleaming. John didn’t know what else to say but Moran just picked up a careful handful of things and started.

John was the first one to successfully slice off the arm from a straw man and he’d done it on accident but after that both of them re-examined the selection and began again with new purpose. Each type of weapon had advantages and disadvantages, all were deadly, and most of them would be able to inflict serious damage from a distance, a fact that satisfied both warriors immensely. The more they tried out the easier the next weapon became to use, their grip and throw adjusting naturally as they relaxed and just let it happen. Their fingers held the weapons as if accustomed to them, and continued experimentation seemed to reawaken muscle memory neither man even knew he possessed.

Like their first sparring session it seemed like their bodies knew what to do but needed to go through everything at least once to remember how. Now determined both soldiers began to work steadily through the vast compliment of variants that were laid out to choose from. They weren’t the smartest men in the room but they knew for a fact that knowledge was power. Sherlock said there would be eight coming for them but neither genius was a fighter. It would be up to John and Sebastian to protect their lovers and they didn’t even know what kind of foe was waiting for them, or what weapons or skills they would bring with them.

John could hear Sherlock and Moriarty at the table now, both of them still arguing as they dug out books, pointed at diagrams and seemed to go out of their way to disagree with one another. When John glanced over he saw that Sherlock had procured a roll of paper from somewhere and was using…yes…he was using a quill to draw with. John shook his head to focus on Moran who had whacked him on his helmet with a staff to get his attention back. They practiced in silence for a long time and then John felt something shift inside him, something darkly beautiful and yearning, “Stop.”

Moran stopped mid-throw. Moriarty was backing away from Sherlock who was standing perfectly still, his gaze locked onto John. His eyes were intense, the colors more brilliant than ever, and his face was a cold blank but inside John could feel Sherlock’s hunger rage. It was time at last, time for Sherlock to feed. John ignored the other two, dropping his weapons on the floor as he walked quickly toward his mate. Sherlock reached for him, and as soon as they touched John felt everything around them twist and bend, the colors swirling almost sickeningly as they were brought back to their chamber.

John was nude now; his armor in the corner on its rack like it hadn’t been touched. Sherlock was also entirely naked, his clothes hung in the wardrobe but the young vampire didn’t seem to care and John certainly did not. Sherlock was already caught up in the desire to bite but John wasn’t fighting him, he just pulled his lover to their bed, tumbling them both down so John was on his back and Sherlock was straddling him. Fumbling around blindly John grabbed the lube and managed to get some on his fingers. Without waiting to ask he simply reached behind Sherlock to pull him wide and began to apply it generously.

Sherlock nearly purred, falling forward to lap at John’s neck, his hips swaying invitingly. For a moment they rocked together, John wasting no time with delicacy, plunging in one finger, then another, then another as Sherlock dragged his tongue over John’s throat again and again. “Sweet John,” Sherlock kissed John’s mouth for a moment before returning to his neck, pushing John’s chin with his fingers until his head was tilted back, his throat fully exposed, “Lovely, perfect, wonderful John.” he crooned softly then opened his mouth. John closed his eyes and breathed in Sherlock’s scent, forcing himself to remain relaxed. Sherlock was operating on a purely instinctive level at the moment. John could feel the blinding hunger but also the vastness of the love Sherlock had for him. John felt himself being gathered up, long slim arms wrapping around him to hold him tight and it felt protective and tender. Sherlock’s teeth pressed against John and he could sense the pressure of them sinking into the skin and all that lay hidden beneath it until Sherlock managed to nick the jugular and John could feel the euphoria each drop brought the creature on top of him. Sherlock moaned as he swallowed slowly, licking his lips before lapping at John’s neck again. It felt warm and caring, Sherlock’s soft sighs of appreciation soothing the rapid beat of John’s heart, of their hearts. Sherlock’s heart was beating again, “My John.”

“Forever.” said John. There had been no pain at all this time and when John brought his hand up he found his skin smooth and unbroken already. Sherlock sat back, his eyes closed as he savored the single mouthful he’d just consumed. The soldier drank in Sherlock’s expression, he was savage and innocent looking at the same time, his dark curls a riot, his cheeks stained with the flush of desire; a debauched angel with blood on his lips. “I’ll love you forever.”

Sherlock began immediately, reaching back and running his fingers over John’s willing flesh, stroking him until he was hard before shifting and sitting back onto it. John gritted his teeth and wished he’d remembered to slick himself as well, Sherlock was still very tight but it was manageable. Much as John had enjoyed the roughness of his first time with Sherlock, this Sherlock seemed to enjoy the pain of it as well and began to move almost aggressively fast despite John’s preparations. John wasn’t thinking about that anymore. He wasn’t thinking anything. Just like Sherlock John was now caught up in the fury of the post-feeding rut, their bodies working in almost violent harmony as they chased their orgasm together.

For a time John simply thrust as Sherlock dropped back down to meet him over and over again but it wasn’t enough. Sherlock didn’t protest when John rolled them over, bracing himself on his knees to drive in fast and rough. He could feel Sherlock’s urgency, he needed John to come, he needed to finish feeding. John could feel the hunger still inside the tall man beneath him, his arms wantonly thrown above his head to brace himself on the headboard as John slammed into him. John came to himself a bit then, recalled that he’d lived without this man, that he could never live without him again. He needed Sherlock, needed to love him, to be with him, to never let him go. If this is what it took to keep Sherlock then John would gladly give of himself. John felt his body tighten, his hips snapping so that Sherlock’s cock was bouncing against his flat belly, small drops of precum splattered from the nearly fully exposed head.

This vision was the final trigger for the soldier. His hips were rolling sinuously now, his cock flashing in and out of Sherlock’s ass rapidly and smoothly as John came. Each throb made Sherlock shake, his body spasming and twitching as his own cock released, the come running in thin trickles down his side. John felt the rush of delicious pleasure consume him, felt the energy of it seem to contract deep in his abdomen, felt it gather in his balls, felt it flow out of him and into Sherlock. John had never felt such unity with another person. Sherlock was made of a thousand fractured parts and seamlessly John had fit himself between all the broken places until they were inseparable, becoming each other’s strength and weakness. For a timeless moment they were entirely locked together, their bodies, minds, and hearts functioning in perfect synchronicity as John offered everything selflessly to his lover, allowing Sherlock to take whatever he needed, as much as he wanted so he would stay with John. The love they felt for one another fed back and forth until John was lost in a brilliant haze of bliss.

John came down to gentle kisses and he smiled. Sherlock was practically laying on him and kissed his mouth slowly and gently over and over again until John’s eyes opened, “Good morning.” Sherlock’s smile was fond and relaxed, filled with love and wonder, “I remember John.”

John sat up, nearly knocking his head against Sherlock’s, “You do? What do you remember?”

Sherlock wouldn’t answer instead pointing to the fireplace where a meal trolley was waiting. John realized he was famished, “You didn’t eat after you practiced. I’m not sure how long the feeding took but from the number of platters waiting for you I’d say it’s been a while.” John was itching with curiosity but Sherlock just pushed him toward the shower for a quick wash before leading the soldier back to the sofa. The trolley produced a breakfast of made of fresh fruit, pastries, and yoghurt, as well as a lunch of thick rich stew, fresh crusty rolls, including a large assortment of cheeses and cold-cuts. Dessert was a large selection of filled pastries, both men indulging in everything they could without care, their hunger voracious. When John couldn’t eat another bite Sherlock let him lean back on the sofa with a glass of wine and began, “I recall the feeding, this one and the one before. I remember everything about my time before I was corporeal. I don’t remember dying though and I only have a vague impression of what seemed to happen after.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“It’s very vague in the beginning. Moran was correct, I was looking for you and this place is vast. It took a long time before I was able to even be seen by the other two, and I didn’t understand how to speak to them. I only wanted to talk to you so I called for you.”

“I didn’t come. I didn’t understand. How could I? I buried you Sherlock. It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do but I took care of you myself, I saw you into the ground and I went to visit your grave. How could I have known that you were calling for me? I’m sorry. God I wish I’d come sooner.” John felt such regret. He should have trusted his instincts but he had doubted and because of that Sherlock had been caught in limbo for _weeks_.

“John, we’re together now and we’ll always be together. Perhaps I did have to wait a bit but how long did you wait John? _Two years_. Two years of grief and misery, two years of feeling hollow and without purpose. I did that to you John. I don’t know why I died but it doesn’t matter because whatever the reason was you still suffered the result of my decision. I have hurt you horribly and I swear I will never hurt you again.”

“I hope you don’t include rough sex in that statement.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Then that was very beautiful Sherlock, thank you. It helps. All of that’s behind us now. We can’t go back to our old lives, how could we? Even if we could leave this place together how do we explain to the world how you’ve come back to life? You died in front of a crowd of witnesses; there wasn’t any room for doubt that you had might have survived. You’d have to live your life hidden all the time. At least here in the Keep you can move around, you have things to do. We’re together and for now it’s enough. Now, tell me what else you recall.”

Sherlock sat back for a minute and went over the details in his mind, struggling to put the experience into words. “I didn’t feel anything except the need to be with you, specifically _you_. I would imagine it would be very simple to procure a source of food if blood alone was what I required, any living body would have sufficed but I waited for you to come. When I was finally coherent enough to speak to Moran it still took a long time to explain how to find you. It would have been simpler if Moriarty could have helped but back then he didn’t remember anything at all. At least I woke up as myself more or less, he apparently did not. I suppose it was because Moran was supporting both of us in whatever manner it is we’re linked. I think all four of us are closely tied John, no matter how we feel about one another. The Keep is thriving somehow now that all of us are properly bonded and growing together. I can feel it. I can almost hear it. There’s an awareness all around us and I think it’s trying to teach us what we need to know for more than just the fight ahead. I can’t explain it but in all the weeks I spent roaming the halls looking for you I felt I was with _something_ , or someone perhaps. I had a sense of not being alone and _alone_ was what this presence felt very strongly.  I can’t say for certain but I suspect it is the Keep itself with which Moriarty and I have made our deal. I can’t explain how I know; I just _feel_ I am correct.”

That was a lot of John to take in but before he could ruminate on anything he had to ask, “Do you remember the deal at all?”

“No John. I wish I could, at least then I would know what ties I have bound around us. This place is wonderfully strange; there is a stark sort of beauty. If it is sentient in some sort of way how do we communicate with it?”

“I don’t want the stones to speak. That would be a bit much.”

 Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Not _that_ John but there must be some method we can employ that will allow us to understand it somehow. Clearly it has needs we must fulfill; perhaps the upcoming battle is part of that. I feel there is more here, that’s the best I can say.”

Sherlock looked disgruntled that he couldn’t explain it further but John just gave him a loving kiss. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“Your faith in me is flattering.” Sherlock was smiling softly at John.

“Well, I believe in Sherlock Holmes. That’s kind of my anthem.” John smiled back up at his lover and enjoyed the gentle blush on the tall man’s face. “Come to bed with me Sherlock. I’m not fast like you, I need to think about all of this and I’m exhausted now.” Sherlock just got up and walked to their bed with John, shedding his robe carelessly, simply dropping it to the floor and climbing into the bed naked. John went to their bathroom and got Sherlock two paracetamols. He wasn’t feeling poorly now but in a while the effects of their feeding session would trouble him. John hung his robe but got into bed as bare as Sherlock, arranging himself so Sherlock could curl up, his head resting on John’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. John rested his hand on Sherlock’s back and felt the steady thump, each one echoed by his and was soothed by it. A soft snore let him know that Sherlock had succumbed instantly to the comfort of their embrace and with a smile John closed his eyes. He was excessively wearied now, full, and ready for sleep. They’d speak more of all of this later. He slept.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to find a graphic that displayed a good assortment of medieval weapons except that most of them came just from Europe (obviously) but edged weapons were (again obviously) available globally and as unique to each region even while being largely for the same purpose a.k.a. hurting people. I settled for someone's shuriken collection.


	8. 221 B Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There have been a lot of changes in John Watson's world. What other changes must occur?

 

Practice the next day consisted of bowed weapons, many of which were bizarrely complicated but shockingly effective for their purpose. Neither of them had ever tried one before but Sherlock found a reference in one of the books they’d looked through already and after reading through a bit John and Sebastian realized they understood the basics enough to begin. Much as they had with what James had identified as _shuriken_ the day before the soldiers began with simple bows and arrows. They were total pants at it to begin with, almost unable to make their arrows fly at all, but that competitive feeling never truly ebbed so with determination they carefully practiced the basics, eventually working their way up to complex compound monstrosities that blew the straw men to pieces.

John was rather taken with the bows. They came in all manner of configuration, some ornate and complex, others elegant and simple but no less deadly. After a long while they felt natural in his hand and they were fascinatingly different from one another, even the arrowheads showing an astounding diversity, some utilitarian and others barbed and cruel. All of it was a marvel of human ingenuity as weapon after weapon was crafted to suit the land of its origin.

John found his body wanted to adjust itself, his hands and feet going into the correct stances and positions gently as he worked at learning more and more. Moran was similarly affected and they shared a glance more than once as they figured out more and more complicated weapons, their ability to use the diverse offerings increasing with every scrap of experience they absorbed. Once again their skill level was almost perfectly matched, Moran was always accurate but John’s reaction times were briefer but after a while there was no difference between them at all. John never missed a target and Sebastian learned to move faster.

Sherlock and James seemed to be completely involved in a rather esoteric argument revolving around a small stack of volumes and a seemingly random assortment of items from the armory. They had laid out several percussion weapons as well as various pieces of armor and were heatedly pointing out different details to counter-point the other. Sometimes the debate got intense; the vampires standing nearly nose to nose as they coldly informed the other of how very wrong they were. John could still feel that Sherlock was merely annoyed and not angry so he let them keep working out whatever it was they were obviously focused on.

“He likes Sherlock.” said Sebastian suddenly, “Admires him.”

“You’re kidding.” Moriarty had played his games to toy with Sherlock and look what had happened because of it!

Sebastian read the indignation on the smaller man’s face. “I know John, I know all of that stuff happened and it can’t ever change but we’re in a whole new place now. We’re clearly part of the deal, all of us.”

“So what, you want to become friends? After everything that Moriarty did to us? That you probably helped him do to us?” Could John even manage to do that? He was unsure and he felt Sherlock respond a bit to his confusion, not stopping his argument with Moriarty but cutting his eyes to John.

“I stopped Jim at the pool. He could have ended everything right there. That vest would have gone off and he would have taken himself out with you. I told he was far gone by then, I couldn’t be with him all the time, I wasn’t always there to keep him on track. There were things that needed taking care of and he only trusted me just like Sherlock trusts you. Listen Watson, I’m not saying we have to kiss and make up with each other. I can’t ask for forgiveness for the shit you went through or try to rationalize why it all happened. The fact of the matter is we’re all as good as dead to the world. I was invisible the minute I met Jim, he erased all records of me everywhere he thought to look and he’s really, _really_ good at looking. No one will ever miss me or even once think to look for me. He and Sherlock are literally dead, it’s on record. So far you’re the only one who’s still tied to the world so eventually someone is going to notice you’re gone, right? At some point you’re going to have to leave here to take care of that and I guess what I’m saying is that he’ll be alright alone here with us. We’d never hurt him and Jim isn’t able to do the things he used to do. He’s different Watson, really different. If you gave him a chance you’d see that.”

John stood on his mark, and drew back an arrow, letting it fly off to a target in the distance while he thought. They were in this place together, that was a fact. They might be here for a really long time; _that_ was a distinct possibility. They were going to be attacked; everything depended on their ability to function as a team, “Well, I guess you cans start by calling me John.”

“Sebastian, or Seb.” He seemed satisfied with John’s gesture. The taller man then just stood there at ease, patiently waiting for John to think things through.

The soldier felt a rush of sadness but made his choice, “I should take care of Baker Street before the blood moon comes.” If the worst happened Mrs. Hudson would never know. She’d have to deal with everything he’d left at the flat and it would break her heart one item at a time. He couldn’t do that to her but it meant making the last decision he ever wanted to make. Sherlock was looking steadily at John now and Moriarty had fallen silent, watching Moran in the same manner.

“That’s probably a good idea,” John was pensive again but Sebastian was surprisingly understanding of it, “Look, let’s head to London. Jim’s good for a couple of days and Sherlock will be too. We can close up your place and do whatever it is that you need to do.”

John made another swift decision. It wouldn’t get easier to do if he put it off, if anything it would get worse. He nodded. They set their weapons down and went to their mates, “Sherlock, can I have a word?” the soldier led Sherlock off to the armory, “Look, I want to head back to London to pack up the flat. I can bring everything here.”

Sherlock looked stunned, “Are you sure John?” Sherlock’s hands found John’s, and they were trembling. Sherlock felt distressed at the thought of separation, already he felt abandoned and isolated, and John could feel the shame the vampire also felt for being so needy, and for wanting to cling so hard. John felt the shame fade when the vampire felt how reluctant John was to leave at all, that this was a hard choice for him to have made, and that he _wanted_ Sherlock to cling, to hold him close for a long as possible to succor him while he needed to be gone. John didn’t want to do this but he had made his choice so one foot in front of the other he would march forward and do his duty.

“Listen, Sebastian just said something that made a lot of sense. I’m the only one who’s still got connections with the outside world. I’m not going back to live there, not without you. For both our peace of mind I think it would be best to just bring our things here and admit this is home now.” John knew Sherlock felt relieved that the love John had for him was unwavering, that he was willing to give up something he had worked so hard to keep, but that he was doing it willingly so they could be together. Sherlock understood John’s reasons but he was still unhappy. Their foreheads pressed together momentarily and John took in as much of Sherlock as he could to sustain him.

“What about Mrs. Hudson? She’d have to let the flat.” Both of them looked at the other, they had no resources to help Mrs. Hudson after the money Moran had given them ran out. Eventually someone else would live at Baker Street.

“Sebastian said James had money. Maybe there’s something they can do.” John didn’t really want to ask for favors but Sherlock didn’t hesitate, not when it came to taking care of Mrs. Hudson. He went right over to the other pair and explained their situation.

Moriarty stood there and looked irritated then said dismissively, “Sebastian can arrange for the purchase of 221 B Baker Street for your landlady if it will make you happy. God knows we own enough real estate in London alone to house a thousand old ladies; one more property won’t make a difference. Sebby my darling, if you are going to go through with this whole nobility streak you’ve been on you can take care of the tedious end of this. You may as well give her a retirement fund, nothing else positive is happening with the money now. It’s all just sitting there attracting more.”

John was very touched; Moriarty didn’t have to be so generous with Mrs. Hudson though it was clear his resources were vast, “Thank you…James.” John felt a bit odd being so familiar with a man he had considered his enemy but Sebastian was right again, they were all in this together, fostering animosity would help no one and nothing could change the past. “How do I explain it to her?” She deserved some kind of answer. She’d worry endlessly if she didn’t know.

Sherlock looked down, “Tell her you’ve taken a contract with a private company. Tell her you can’t say more about it than that. Give her a kiss for me, I wish I could tell her goodbye.” Sherlock felt so sad inside, he’d loved Mrs. Hudson dearly and missed her. He hadn’t said goodbye to her two years ago either and John felt his lover’s pain and regret.

Everything around them shimmered and swirled and suddenly they were standing beside Sebastian’s beat up car. Both soldiers were in their casual clothes, it felt almost foreign to be so lightly covered. John was accustomed to the weight of the furs and armor he wore. James looked stricken and Sherlock was even sadder but resigned, “I guess we’re leaving now love, we’ll hurry.” promised John and kissed Sherlock as tenderly as he could, ignoring James and Sebastian who were sharing a similarly reluctant farewell. There was no question of trying to bring them with; both vampires were still in the garb provided by the Keep. It was obvious to everyone that leaving wasn’t an option for them so they didn’t even attempt it. John kissed Sherlock hard one more time, squeezing him so tightly that Sherlock grunted but the taller man hugged to John as hard as he could before he let go. “I love you.”

Sherlock nodded, clearly too upset to say anything. John could feel the love inside him though and was comforted. Sherlock was trying not to make a fuss and it was taking everything in him not to fall apart. He was even more anxious about being so suddenly separated but the Keep was making itself clear that this was something that was going to happen. “I’ll be waiting for you John.” He had no choice and both of them felt that fact keenly.

The soldiers forced themselves into the car, Sebastian driving grimly away, not any happier than James or Sherlock about leaving them behind, “Once we hit civilization you take over driving, I need to make a lot of calls.” John saw their mobiles on the seat between them, currently still lifeless. He nodded and looked out the window, missing Sherlock intently, especially when the sense of him faded the further from the keep they traveled. John felt almost panicked when the last of Sherlock’s emotions trickled away leaving only a faint note of love and worry like a distant voice in his head instead of being part of his entirety. Moran clearly wasn’t faring any better. Neither man felt like speaking, and was fine with the other’s silence.

It wasn’t until they were riding on smooth asphalt only a few minutes later that both men snapped out of the funk they’d already been in, “I thought it was further than that?”

“It’s always been before this but look, there’s a town already. I’ll pull over so you can take the wheel.” The Keep had brought them into England certainly but neither man could say for sure where they were, not yet. They weren’t worried. Sebastian found a parking lot and they quickly switched places. John hadn’t driven in a long time but it stopped being strange almost instantly, “Full charge, that’s something at least.” Moran was examining his phone curiously.

Looking around John saw the name _Maidstone_ highlighted for a moment, they were east of London! John listened as Sebastian called contacts all over London; he seemed to know everyone everywhere and was organizing movers to meet them at Baker Street as well as a large lorry to carry everything in. John followed the ever growing traffic inward to the city and listened to Sebastian browbeat barristers regarding Mrs. Hudson, he was ruthless and direct, qualities John appreciated when it came to the terms of care Sebastian thought of. She would be safe and comfortable for the rest of her natural life, no matter what.

It took a long time to reach Baker Street and by the time they got there John’s nerves were frazzled and he felt snappish. Moran had stayed on his mobile the entire time, talking to all manner of person as he skillfully made arrangements. He might have described himself as a hit man and a soldier but clearly there was a lot more to Sebastian Moran than met the eye. It seemed the type of people he normally dealt with didn’t bother with a lot of administrative delays and were dispatching helping hands to join the moving team as well as arranging for the delivery of a transport lorry Sebastian had in a warehouse. John was impressed over and over again at how the man handled difficulties until things were arranged to his satisfaction. Moran had just finished his final call when they managed to find a parking spot relatively near the door of 221 B. There was a small crowd of people already waiting but Sebastian waved them back. John heaved a sigh of relief when he pushed his key into the front lock of the place that had been his home for so long and knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door. “I’m home.” He’d never say those words here again.

“John! Oh I’m so happy to see you! What happened? Can you tell me?” Mrs. Hudson looked as pleasant and warm as ever, her eyes alight with love and concern. She was wearing the elegant purple dress that Sherlock had given her for her birthday so long ago, a long warm wrap about her shoulders. They exchanged a warm hug but John didn’t delay at all.

“I’m afraid I can’t Mrs. Hudson. We’re here to collect up my things.” Mrs. Hudson covered her mouth with her hands in dismay, “Please, let me explain.”

“Oh John! Do you really have to move? Whatever shall I do without you?” Mrs. Hudson didn’t need John to look after her, she looked after everyone. She was a mother hen who had sheltered both he and Sherlock under her wing time and time again.

John gave his excuse and added, “It’s a chance to start a new life and I want to take it. My contract is extremely generous, I’ll have everything I could ever want or need. If anyone should ask just tell them I took a job somewhere, you don’t know where. I won’t even know where I’ll be most of the time.”

Moran stood forward and spoke very respectfully to Mrs. Hudson, “Our contract allows for certain assurances, John’s was making sure you were alright. It will take some time but people are working on obtaining this building for you. Don’t be surprised to hear from some barristers in the next few weeks. This job is very discrete, no one can know.”

Mrs. Hudson drew herself up sharply, “The only one who would dare ask after John too much is _Mr. Holmes_ and I have quite firmly shown him the door on more than one occasion! Oh John, I will miss you! Is there any chance I’ll see you again?” Mrs. Hudson had been as perturbed as John when she had found out about Mycroft’s duplicity. She never used his given name again. Sherlock was the son of her heart and brother or not Mycroft was one of the rare people to have earned Mrs. Hudson’s ire. He would learn nothing from her.

“I’d like to say yes but I don’t want to lie to you. I’m here now to ensure that I have no reason to come back.” He pulled her in for a long, long hug and kissed her cheek gently, twice. “You know if life had been perfect it would have been the three of us here, rattling around until the end of our days, you know that right?”

Tears were slipping down Mrs. Hudson’s cheeks, she looked sad but proud at the same time, “You were always the best boys. I’ve always said so. I miss him too John, never as much as you, but still. I’m glad there’s something out there for you. You look better, happy.”

“It is better; if I could I’d tell you everything. Don’t worry for me Mrs. Hudson; I’m going to be fine now. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and everything you did for Sherlock; you know you were his favorite person.”

“We both know that was you John but thank you. I will miss you dear. Let me get some food together while you pack.” John and Sebastian went upstairs, leading the small procession of people who poured in bearing collapsed boxes and tape as well as all manner of packing materials. In short order each room had its own team, everything deftly wrapped and packed away, one box at a time being carried out to a waiting lorry. John personally packed up every last bit of Sherlock’s kitchen laboratory. He’d kept it obsessively, all of it living in their assigned cupboard spaces even though it meant that John only had a quarter of cabinet space to use for food and dishes. Less than three hours later the entire flat was sparkling clean and empty of everything but the furnishings and their chairs. The movers had taken away everything John couldn’t use at the Keep, whatever Mrs. Hudson hadn’t needed. John sat on the sofa one last time and looked around.

It was strange to see how much space he and Sherlock had taken up, now it echoed hollowly and he felt a pang. This place was still filled to the brim with memories. He wondered if Mrs. Hudson would ever let it again, ever allow someone else to make a life here. It was a good place, someone deserved a haven. He walked himself out backward, taking in a last view of the flat that had been the touch-stone of his world for so long. It was a wrench to say farewell but there was someone waiting for him. Turning on his heel he went downstairs to share a final meal with Mrs. Hudson. She chattered on merrily about Mrs. Turner and all the plans they had, told Sebastian some amusing stories of Sherlock and John when they’d been together and happy, friends so devoted they inspired envy in others. They ate up all the food she pressed on them, Sebastian greedily attempting a third helping which made Mrs. Hudson very pleased.

When it was time to leave John felt the separation acutely. He hugged Mrs. Hudson once again, holding her tight before giving her two more kisses on her wrinkled cheek. Tears were running along them again and she didn’t try to stop them, even as she handed Sebastian a well wrapped cake to take with them, “You stay well Mrs. Hudson. England depends on it.”

“You stay well too John. Stay happy. I’ll miss you my boy.” John didn’t want to let her go so he hung on tight while she cried onto his shoulder. She’d been such a big part of his life for so long and he was sorry to say goodbye to her but he couldn’t leave her waiting and wondering either. They’d done everything they could to see to her future needs and now it was time to go. The longer he was away from Sherlock the more uneasy he became. It was hard letting her go, and harder still to turn his back and walk away but he did it. Sebastian drove the moving van and John drove the car, the doctor concentrating hard on the roads around him to ignore the misery he was feeling.

The drive back was strange. John followed Moran closely, turning when he turned, keeping an eye on the dense traffic around them but it thinned heavily after an hour, and then eerily they were alone on the road for a lingering moment and then they were on the unpaved road heading up the mountain to the Keep. John shook his head in amazement at the life he now led. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it, not entirely. The drive back took longer than the drive out. This time they passed all the features John recalled from his first ride, the narrowed roads, the black forest, the stone bridge and he couldn’t believe how his heart lifted when the gray stones of the Keep rose up in front of him.

Both John and Sebastian inhaled sharply when they felt their lovers again. John’s concern soared, Sherlock was highly agitated! He felt upset and worried, and so hungry, so tired! Sherlock and James were waiting for them, fluttering around anxiously. They looked ill. Sherlock threw himself at John the second he was out of the car, “You were gone for so long!”

“We’ve only been gone twelve hours Sherlock!” it couldn’t have been more than that. The driving in and out of the city had taken most of the time but Sebastian’s well paid workers had made a quick business of packing up the flat and dinner with Mrs. Hudson had been well short of an hour. Still he could feel Sherlock, feel how tense he was, how empty he felt.

“No you haven’t! It’s been nearly three days. We’re hungry John…I can feel it coming on.” Three days? John looked sharply at Sherlock, he was wan and sick looking. Sherlock was weak and trembling, had he even eaten regular food? John glanced at a very obviously wilting Moriarty. The small man was being held up by Moran whose face was filled with worry. Concern spiked anew, Sherlock needed him and now. John could feel the need approaching, sensed that it had been further induced by their return.

Abandoning the vehicles where they were both Sebastian and John took hold of their lovers and as John had hoped the Keep brought them right to their room. Tearing their clothes off both men unceremoniously prepared. The room was icy again but Sherlock just knelt on the edge of the bed and shivered while John slathered lube over him, beginning slowly but not wasting any time preparing the vampire. This time John remembered to stroke himself into hardness first and slick himself heavily. John wanted to make this as pain free as possible, “Hurry John, hurry.” Sherlock rocked back, his voice deep and rough. John’s fingers were still deep inside Sherlock when the shift happened, suddenly the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood up as Sherlock moaned sensuously, deep and vibrating with anticipation as he pushed back onto John’s hand, “ _My John_.”

John removed himself, using a towel he’d grabbed to wipe off his hand before climbing onto the bed to lay back. Sherlock was on him in a flash. He kissed John deeply and John was swept away with desire, sighing happily as soon as Sherlock was nuzzling at John’s neck. He obediently tilted his head up and to the side, closing his eyes as Sherlock’s tongue swept up and down only once before his teeth began to press. A single lick couldn’t possibly be enough! “Not yet Sherlock, I’m not ready yet!” Sherlock’s tongue returned, the vampire now seeming to be enjoying the sensation of it because he licked and lapped for much longer than he needed to. Finally though he had to begin and John didn’t resist this time. Sherlock bit.

Sherlock’s teeth sank in smoothly now, like they were pushing through nothing at all and soon he was moaning softly, shuddering rapturously once more as he tasted John’s blood. He swallowed not once, but twice but John didn’t protest, he also didn’t tease his lover. The second Sherlock stopped licking at his neck John reached down, and began to open Sherlock once more, the vampire writhing and bearing down on John’s fingers happily, eager to get things going. When Sherlock kissed him though John’s mind fuzzed out and when he came back to himself a bit Sherlock was reaching back and holding John steady as his hips pushed down slowly. It was fast like the first time but painless at least.

Sherlock was desperate for completion. John’s entire body felt taut and overheated, like it had been far too long already. John didn’t like the feeling of Sherlock having tasted loneliness once more, to have suffered because of it, and once again offered of himself entirely, wordlessly giving Sherlock leave to take as much as he needed from John, to have whatever he needed. He loved Sherlock and Sherlock loved him and they needed each other. John felt the bonds on his soul tighten a bit more and he was glad of it. Only a few minutes passed before both of them were grunting and crying out, Sherlock’s head thrown back as his chest heaved and his hips shook. John could feel relief from his lover as the feeding cycle ended. Their orgasm had been sharp, almost painfully acute. This time Sherlock slumped forward, trying to hold John in as many ways as he could, still trembling all over, “Don’t ever leave me again! Never John! Not ever!”

“I’m sorry love, I’m sorry Sherlock! It’s over now, I’m done. I won’t have to go away again, not unless we really _really_ have to. I’m sorry love!” Sherlock was cold, still trembling, so John tucked him into the center of the bed where their body heat had had the most impact, pulled on a robe and started the fire. It didn’t take long for their chamber to warm, “What happened?”

“I don’t think the Keep likes it when we’re not all here. It tried to keep us occupied, but time dragged. At first I thought I was imagining things but James said he felt the same way. It was lonely. It felt lonely here. We…we kept each other company. It was too hard to be by ourselves, especially for him. He’s very dependent on Sebastian. Right after you left James broke down, he needed…well…I gave him a hug.” Sherlock was blushing, “It helped us both. The Keep tried to feed us but it was too hard to eat alone, even together. I had no appetite, and I don’t think James did more that have water this entire time.” the vampires and the Keep had _languished_ after John and Sebastian.

“I won’t have to go again. We’re alright now love, I’m back. I’m here. I missed you every second, I did.” the sudden odor of dinner wafted over and their bellies roiled. Sherlock was starving still but in a different way than his need for blood. John got him out of bed, well wrapped up and sat him on the sofa to eat. The Keep was obviously concerned as well and had provided them with piping hot soup, fresh crusty rolls, and hot sweet tea. There was an assortment of sandwiches too which the vampire declined but that John indulged heavily in. Sherlock still felt shaky so John spoiled him, spoon feeding him little bites, and giving him as many kisses as he could, pressing them to Sherlock’s hair or to his forehead, petting the vampire soothingly as he encouraged him to eat. The entire room was warm now and John noticed that the carpets were lusher, thicker, the patterns more intricate. They’d also acquired a door; it was off to the side of the fireplace. Sherlock made to move toward it but John pulled him back, “Let’s finish our food first, let me look after you.” John needed it as much as Sherlock did. His lover was recovering quickly but that he’d been ill at all made John feel sorrow and regret.

When Sherlock could eat no more John pulled him into his lap and cuddled him like a small child. Sherlock folded himself up; tucking his head on John’s shoulder and breathing onto his neck, and let John keep him close. Sherlock drowsed for a while and John let him, stoically sitting still and holding his lover comfortably in his arms, prepared to do so all night if that’s what Sherlock needed. They could look through the doorway in the morning. When it was clear that Sherlock was falling asleep properly John stood and bore his lover to bed, carrying the tall man easily. Sherlock let John strip him of his robe and waited, eyes closed, in the center of the bed. John slid in behind him and cuddled Sherlock one again, “Sleep love.” John lay there for a long time just letting Sherlock bask in his love until the vampire finally drifted away, peaceful and content. Only then could the soldier close his eyes, following Sherlock into sleep as he followed him everywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me sad but it needed to be written so true to nature of all those who must do what they don't feel like doing I dragged my ass over getting it done. I promise a much happier chapter next time.
> 
> *missing Mrs. Hudson*


	9. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has severed his last tie to the world outside the Keep. He's returned to discover that neither the Keep nor the vampires thrive without their soldiers.

The Keep was warm when John woke the next morning, Sherlock wrapped all around him. John let himself be held tightly, clearly the vampire still needed comfort. The smell of coffee tickled their noses and roused them pleasantly from sleep. Sherlock looked so much better, his heart beating steadily with John’s, his face relaxed and happy once again. He kissed John softly, “Good morning.”

“Good morning beautiful, let’s get up.”

John helped Sherlock out of bed, giving the younger man plenty of kisses as he led him toward breakfast. Sherlock was kittenish, cuddly, and shyly playful. John was full of smiles as his lover snuggled happily by his side to share their breakfast, just sitting in their robes. Once it was completed though Sherlock wouldn’t wait any longer than it took for them to use the facilities and dress lightly before he was tugging John toward the new door.

It was wood, different than the other doors of the keep. This door seemed new while the others seemed uniformly ancient, gray like the stones around them. This door seemed almost vibrant with life though, as if it would branch out and leaf at any moment if given a chance. The handle was a simple metal latch though and when John lifted it and pushed through Sherlock gave a delighted gasp.

They now had a sitting room filled with their things right up to the buffalo head which was mounted above the fireplace that now opened into both rooms. Sherlock’s long treasured skull was there too, perched cheekily on the mantle, its toothy grin making both men smile. Their chairs were set at an angle from one another on a thick carpet, two elegant side tables waiting with lamps and coasters for drinks. Their books and knickknacks were displayed on rich wooden bookcases that spanned the walls, giving the room a library feel. The drapes were thick, heavy, and darkly colored, the walls surprisingly covered with elaborate wood paneling to make the entire room seem warm.

Sherlock’s violin had been relocated and now stood on its own display next to a music stand filled with Sherlock’s compositions, all of which John had devotedly saved. “John, look!” The far end of the room had been set up to contain all of Sherlock’s equipment, his much loved microscope on a long sturdy table, all the instruments and vessels neatly stored in glassed cabinets. Sherlock went over and gazed over all of it with excitement, “We found some amazing manuscripts on alchemy and metal-work. With all of this there is so much Jim and I could research! He has some interesting ideas about….why are you laughing?”

John wasn’t exactly sure but he tried to answer, “You called Moriarty _Jim_. I…” John laughed some more but it was bitter, “I know, water under the bridge and all of that but it’s harder for _me_ to forget what he fucking _did_ to us! Sherlock! He tried to kill us several times. He made you kill yourself! Out of all of you _I’m_ the one who got stuck with the shit end of _that_ stick when I had to live with the knowledge that my best friend in the whole world was dead! I know we’re all stuck here but it’s just going to take me a bit longer to warm up to him. I don’t want to stop you from being his friend; I just need you to understand where I’m at with him at the moment.”

Sherlock came over and wrapped himself around John, “He’s petrified of you. He was convinced you’d destroy Sebastian while you were gone and away from us, that you would take your revenge while he wasn’t able to stop you.”

John was stunned, “I never even considered betraying Sebastian. Why would I do that?” Sebastian had found John and brought him to Sherlock! How could anyone ever think that John would pay him back for such a miracle with treachery? How they had helped Mrs. Hudson was entirely unnecessary too but they had done it, how could John ever even for a moment consider betraying him, betraying any of them?

“That’s what I told Jim! He’s not used to people like you John, honorable people. He’s used to people like me, broken and easily manipulated. You were never once swayed by him, not once John. I made you go along with me and because I didn’t listen to you we were driven to our mutual destruction. He fears you because he knows you are willing to pay any price for something you think is right, no matter how it hurts you. If you decided Sebastian needed to die there is nothing Jim could do to stop you and it frightens him.”

“You are not broken, or easily manipulated! Sebastian would have to let me do it and so far he hasn’t been inclined to allow that to happen. We’re perfectly matched. If we ever became adversaries we’d die of boredom before we ever managed to have a fight that ended with one of us the victor. It would take forever and besides, I would never try! We’re here together. I may not like James but Sebastian is my brother-in-arms now, I’ll watch his back and I’ll trust him to watch mine. Betraying him would be betraying myself!”

“How did I ever get so lucky?” said Sherlock with a smile, “My soldier is the bravest, most gallant and spectacular warrior around.”

“You’re making me blush Sherlock.” said John who rolled his eyes but Sherlock just laughed with delight and gave John a warm kiss, “Would you play for me Sherlock?” John’s heart was in his throat suddenly. He hadn’t heard Sherlock play in so long.

Suddenly his eyes were heavy with tears, his old grief rising up in a powerful wave but now Sherlock was there, he felt it with John and he wrapped himself around the soldier once again. “I’ll play my love, I’ll play. No tears John, we’re here, we’re alright.” Sherlock kissed him softly and led him to his old chair, the fire crackling merrily.

It took Sherlock a minute to tune it and to get everything ready. He struck a pose and took a breath, closing his eyes and raising his bow. The note he played hung sweetly in the air, shimmering as if alive, caressing John’s ear. Sherlock added another and another and soon he was playing a song that was filled with love and promise, hope and desire. John couldn’t stop smiling any more than he could stop the tears from tumbling down his cheeks to fall on his lap. How he had missed this! He grew soothed as Sherlock’s music healed the final rent on John’s wounded soul. Sherlock played song after song until a hesitant rap at their chamber door interrupted them.

John went to let Sebastian and James in. He noted how Moriarty was casually under Seb’s arm as if he didn’t have a care in the world but that his fingers tightened as they walked past John toward Sherlock. “We’ve never heard you play before.” said Sebastian, “Jim was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

John wasn’t about to let his feelings about Moriarty spoil the mood. Sherlock’s music seemed to still hang in the air; creating a feeling of almost palpable beauty that kept John calm and hospitable, “I’ll see if there’s tea.” he offered and then went on the other side of the fireplace. The trolley was back and it bore its fresh offering tea and biscuits. When he came back Sebastian was sitting in John’s chair and Jim was on his lap so John went to sit in Sherlock’s chair and his lover stood beside him and began to play again. Everyone sipped their tea and listened. Sherlock played until his fingertips were sore and John made him stop, kissing the reddened digits tenderly, “That was beautiful my love, just beautiful.”

Sherlock’s heart was in his eyes when John praised him and John noticed that the entire room was subtly richer, warmer, the panelling more detailed, the furnishings a touch more elegant. It was warm everywhere too, and there was a subtle perfume in the air. The Keep was happy. John could feel it and so could Sherlock. They smiled at each other.

A metallic clink was heard and with a sigh John and Sebastian checked out the other room. Sure enough their armor was standing ready near the fire so with a lot of grumbling they helped each other into it and listened with half an ear while Sherlock and Jim went over Sherlock’s lab equipment and picked up a conversation they clearly hadn’t finished from earlier, “He has nothing to worry about.” said John softly knowing the other man would understand, “Not from me.”

“I’ll tell him.” said Sebastian. They were buckling on their greaves and Sebastian looked over to John, “He’ll appreciate hearing it. He’s been worried.”

“So Sherlock told me.” they dropped it and checked the fitting on the many parts of their armor before clanking their way over to their lovers. John looked at Sherlock, “Ready?”

Sherlock gracefully left Moriarty where he was and came over to John, slipping his arm into the soldier’s and allowing himself to be led away to dress further. When Sherlock was safely wrapped up snug and warm John kissed him tenderly, “You played so beautifully Sherlock. Thank you. I loved it.”

“I’ll play for you every day John.” promised Sherlock and both of them could feel the Keep almost sigh with contentment, “I’m clearly not the only one who enjoys it.”

“Clearly,” Sherlock was looking at the stones around them, “Everything is becoming more sophisticated, less primitive. This place is alive but it’s still stone.”

“I think it’s waking up or something like that. The longer we live here the more the Keep seems to be able to do.” Both of them looked around. John couldn’t recall if the ceilings had always been that height or if they’d been covered with the ornate panels that were on them now. What else had changed or evolved around their strange home?

The halls were wide enough for all four men to walk side by each until they reached their practice room. Now the table and chairs included padding as well as ink wells and an assortment of blank scrolls and quills. A fireplace was nestled against a side-wall as well, two deep plush chairs clearly waiting for Sherlock and James to sit down and read in. Both vampires did exactly that, squabbling for a minute before dividing their stack of books between each other and settling in. “John…fuck I think I’m going to come!” Sebastian was excited, “Fucking _look_ at what we get to play with today!”

John looked over and he was just as excited as Moran. The walls of the practice area were filled with rack after rack of swords in every conceivable permutation, “Oh my god yes!” Instantly two well-armed and enormous twelve-year olds were laughing and hacking at each other, exclaiming with glee over hits and misses before they finally settled down and began to practice seriously. There were so many to choose from!

Some swords were heavy and some were light. Some were broad and some were narrow. A good deal were straight but many were curved or bent, sometimes the handles were savage parts of the overall weapon, sometimes they were a simple grip. Several looked more like cleavers than swords, all clearly designed for maximum destruction. A few were almost delicate, lacework of steel that still sliced through almost anything effortlessly. Several were shaped vaguely like leaves and others were diabolically fashioned to render as much damage as possible to an opponent, one particularly horrible one equipped with barbs that would yank out much of someone’s insides even if the original thrust didn’t kill them.

There were weapons to use against swords as well and all of them were vicious looking. The sword-breakers were bad enough but there were fittings for their gauntlets that would provide the soldiers with a mass of blades on the backs of their hands, it made both of them wonder why they would need such savagery to win a fight face to face. What foe was coming against them?

John found he enjoyed the skill that went into the curved ones and had no idea how many hours he and Sebastian danced around each other, light shields on their non-dominant arms unless they were fighting with a sword in each. Like the other sessions they started off clumsily but each swing, each step, each defensive move they made reminded their muscles how to stretch, how to hold, how to flex, how to do better.

A meal arrived. John and Sebastian were hot and sweaty but not tired at all as they tucked in, eating most of the vast array between the two of them while Sherlock and James ate at a comparatively sedate pace. After a time out for the loo, and then a bit of a discrete snog in the armory with Sherlock, John was ready to go back to practicing with Sebastian.

He was having fun and so was Moran. All their boyhood dreams were coming true as they got better, their innate skills developing with preternatural speed. They began to work their way methodically through the selection, realizing that each weapon gave them new insight and that each moment they devoted to this gave them an increasing advantage, one neither man was wont to waste. Another meal arrived and John was surprised, had it been that long already? He asked Sherlock, “I have no idea John. Time runs strangely here. Jim has found a most fascinating volume on smelting.”

Sherlock was very excited and John listened, trying to follow along with Sherlock explanations regarding matrixes and absorption, not really understanding most of it but Sherlock was just happy to be in his arms, telling him about his day so John paid attention. “Are you taking up blacksmithing?” asked John with a smile.

“Perhaps John, it’s not really necessary. I’m almost certain I can explain to the Keep the improvements that would be necessary to create a suit of armor that for one, doesn’t look ridiculous, and for two, will do a better job of protecting both of you from the weapons we have on hand. There are several fatal flaws that Jim and I have both observed while watching you engage. Your armor leaves several weaknesses readily available during a fight. That is unacceptable. We cannot risk you.”

“How are you going to explain it to the Keep?” John was mystified.

“The scrolls John, it left scrolls. I made notes before, those notes are gone. We can’t find them. It’s learning from us, I believe the Keep is ancient but I also believe that the last time it had occupants was a long time ago, if it’s had any at all.”

“What makes you think that?” Sherlock and possibly James as well had a definite connection with the Keep. John could feel it distantly through his lover. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to explain his theory.

“It knows about people, understands our basic needs and desires. It must have acquired that knowledge somehow so exposure to others is almost a certainty. What happened to those people is unknown. The one thing Jim and I _feel_ for certain is that we are irrevocably tied to this place. We will last as long as it does.”

John felt a stab of dismay but Sherlock was untroubled by the information. He spoke with almost serene acceptance, “It brought us back to life John; we are part of it for as long as that gift is kept. To leave here is to give up our lives. It can survive without us but we cannot survive without it. Maybe in the far future, if we make it past the blood moon, maybe we’ll be bored of life enough to wish that for ourselves. Right now I find this is a most agreeable arrangement. I live, you are with me, we are together, the Keep is happy.”

John considered that. Either Sherlock lived here or he didn’t live at all. Suddenly the Keep seemed welcoming, and he was grateful. He was feeling the exertion from the day finally and Sherlock had just given him much to think about. “I’ll never be sorry for being here with you Sherlock, not ever.”

“I’m glad John, let’s go wash up. You’re rather ripe again.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. John smelled of fresh sweat, he’d been exerting himself heavily for hours how. He should be entirely exhausted instead of just a bit fatigued.

“You like that.” Sherlock blushed but didn’t disagree. John smiled and stripped down, leading Sherlock to the shower with him where they stayed for an incredibly long time. By the time they were done John had to carry a nearly unconscious Sherlock to bed, the vampire’s body marked with bites and faint bruises from the ferocity of John’s attentions, both men very satisfied.

The next day was less fun, battle axes and sledges, hammers and maces, all sorts of entirely brutal and heartless weapons that did nothing but smash and crush. Fast healing or not those weapons took a lot out of the soldiers. John was sure Moran broke his arm at least once but by the time a raging Sherlock got John out of his armor to inspect it the break had mended. Sherlock scowled at Sebastian but said nothing, especially when John very clearly broke Moran’s leg about an hour later, narrowly escaping death by Moriarty when the vampire went mad with worry. The same thing happened, by the time they exposed Sebastian’s leg the break had mended cleanly, no trace of it remained. Sherlock and Jim argued in a corner after that and finally came over to force John and Sebastian to stand still while they pointed out different areas that needed work. Two broken bones were entirely unacceptable as were any injuries as far as the vampires were concerned.

The day after that was grim. They were given a large series of restraints, all of them unpleasant, almost devices for torture more than to keep someone from escaping. There were tricks to escaping them though and all four of them worked on it, just in case. Sherlock and John kept in contact with one another, neither man cared to be bound and these restraints seemed to be particularly designed to trouble men in armor. Sherlock insisted that they practice both with and without armor, just to be safe. John only had to think for a moment before deciding that making as many options available to themselves as possible was only prudent. The restraints tore at his flesh and made him bleed but one at a time John learned to work his way out of all of them. That day long and after it ended both men were shaking with an overload of adrenalin. Dinner was extravagant, the desserts rich and subtle, the wines particularly fine, as if the Keep was trying to make up for all John and Sebastian had to suffer.

The day after that both Sherlock and Jim needed to feed, both vampires turning at the same time. One moment they were practicing and the next both men could feel the need grip their lovers. As one they dropped their weapons where they stood and strode to the vampires. The Keep bent time and space once more and brought them to their bedroom, both men naked and already stroking each other.

Their lives were like that for days and days it seemed. John and Sebastian worked out their familiarity with more and more weapons. They went back to the beginning and began to sort through the vast complement of weapons to choose the ones that suited each soldier best. They were serious and practical about it, discussing the types of uses each choice would provide, figuring out how to keep those weapons on hand should they ever need to leave the keep. The vampires paid close attention to their comments, making vast notes, occasionally making John and Sebastian stand still while they measured with knotted lengths of twine they had procured from somewhere, lugging selected weapons back to their work table to go over, and all manner of things. After their inspection and review Sherlock and Jim worked on their project regarding their armor, and when required the vampires fed. The Keep grew warmer and more pleasant every day; the morning the bathtub showed up in their bathroom was a very happy one. John insisted on a soak immediately, both he and Sherlock sinking in up to their necks in the almost boiling hot water. It was sheer luxury, “I wonder why the toilet never improves?” asked Sherlock idly. They’d become accustomed to it but of all the things in the Keep it remained more or less the same, the seat becoming more comfortable but that was the only change.

“I don’t know love, plumbing is possible I suppose, we get water, it drains off somewhere. Maybe it’s just practical for the Keep. I can’t imagine it being able to create a waste management facility just so you can go back to flushing a toilet.” The water was all from a natural hot spring too. What would a toilet be like if it was flushed with near boiling water all the time? That could not be pleasant. John decided he didn’t mind their current arrangement.

“I suppose John.” There were still many mysteries to the Keep. How their food was produced was one. They never came across a kitchen or anything remotely like one. The dirty dishes simply disappeared when no one was looking at them, just as hot meals appeared whenever they needed them. Their clothing and linens were always laundry fresh, they never needed to dust or clean. The Keep somehow took care of everything for them.

The vampires began to painstakingly draw two suits of armor. They left detailed notes along the edges of the vast drafts they had laid out on the floors, both men kneeling on the stone, entirely focused on their creations. John and Seb were allowed glances and they grew excited. The designs were inspired! The suits looked sleek, but the vampires had included various strange looking devices all over it and neither John nor Seb could figure out what they were for. Sherlock went so far as to sit cross-legged on against a far wall and recited his requirements out to the Keep, explaining metallurgical processes, bonding techniques, desired outcomes, and patting the floor or walls encouragingly from time to time.

“We’re not done yet. Go hit each other for a while, you’re distracting.” snapped Sherlock eventually. With matching grins John and Sebastian went back to practicing. Today they were working on weapons made of rope or twine. Nets and nooses, whips and lashes, even in armor there was much to be said about being bound or tripped up. Learning to use the whips was exciting until they realized they were going to be the targets of such a weapon and for some reason that troubled them more than potentially being skewered by a pike or spear. Bolos and ropes weighted with all manner of blade or bludgeon were disturbingly effective against them, their armor made them vulnerable to such simple foils and it was frustrating. “Not a problem!” shouted Sherlock when John’s annoyance was at its peak, “Keep practicing.”

Grimly they did so. Crashing to the floor over and over again in a full suit of armor was painful as well as loud. Getting up was necessarily awkward and both men realized that each fall became a moment when they were extremely vulnerable. They would have to stay close to one another to protect whomever fell. They kept practicing, the enjoyment they had felt earlier now entirely gone. They were preparing for war and both men could feel the battle approaching.

At the end of the day Sherlock and Jim rolled up the large sheets of parchment they had been working on for so long and laid both of them on their work table which had been cleared of everything. The vampires felt satisfied with their work which was extraordinarily detailed, and nodded agreeably to the soldiers. There were two long robes waiting by the door. Jim looked at them, “You can leave your armor here.” he said, “You won’t need those ones again.”

John and Sebastian shared a look but didn’t argue. Sherlock came over and helped John just as Jim helped Sebastian until the warriors were standing there in their felt padding and nothing else. Sherlock handed John his robe, and after helping him into it the tall man just led his lover back to their quarters. John enjoyed a steak dinner that was so large and bloody Sherlock kept calling him a caveman. The vampire was working his way through a pasta dish that Mrs. Hudson often made. They didn’t know how the keep knew what they liked but whenever it gave them little treats like this both men were moved. Sherlock made sure John got several bites despite the comment that John was already eating half a cow and didn’t really need more.

They arranged a visit with Jim and Sebastian that evening so Sherlock could play again. The Keep provided a comfortable sofa so everyone had a seat to enjoy the music. Both soldiers were tired, and the visit was a much needed respite from constant sparring. Sherlock loved an audience and the Keep obviously found the music appealing. As Sherlock played everyone could sense the Keep responding, its stones growing warmer, the air grew sweeter and the delighted feeling grew and spread everywhere. Once again the music hung in the air, almost caressing their skins as it sank into the Keep to keep playing in the distance, like a memory or an echo.

John went over and kissed Sherlock to thank him for the music. Sherlock set his violin down carefully and wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, returning his kiss with ardour. John broke it off a minute later, glancing over his shoulder but their guests were gone. He turned back to Sherlock, “Come.”

He took Sherlock back to their bed, the taller man blushing lightly. Each time they made love was beautiful and precious to John. Sherlock had yet to lose the wonder in his eyes when John woke his body bit at a time, his cries filled with need and love as they pleasured each other through the long hours. Sherlock never held back, never tried to reign in their passions and it was glorious each and every time. Even during his feeding cycle Sherlock had become more responsive, less reactive to simple instinct. He was always tender with John, never once hurting him with his bites. Tonight they kept it languid and drawn out until both of them were wound so tightly that when they did orgasm it was almost too intense for their bodies to handle, both their cries ringing through the air.

Afterward Sherlock was propped up on the pillows with John in his arms. They were kissing and giggling softly, both men deliriously in love with one another, their bodies over-sensitized, their minds and emotions tangled together in a delicious mess. They fell asleep content and happy, their bodies sweaty and sticky but for once they didn’t care to wash up first. In the morning John woke to Sherlock snuffling his way all over John’s body, clearly aroused by everything. John could feel Sherlock’s desire for him, so as with everything else Sherlock wanted from him John gave himself willingly to his lover. He loved the feel of Sherlock on his back, how his deep voice cracked sometimes as he groaned, how tightly Sherlock held his wrists but how delicately Sherlock kissed the back of his neck. He loved the feel of Sherlock inside him, loved the way the tall man always touched him like John was sacred, that he was being granted a great privilege.

It wasn’t until much later, in the hazy aftermath when they were just kissing and cuddling again that John noticed their curtains were pulled wide, the never-ending fog rolling against the glass, “Sherlock, look!” Sherlock turned his head and together they watched the fog melt away to reveal a moon that was round and heavy. A dark edge appeared and slowly but distinctively it spread. They lay in bed together, holding one another tight as the moon grew darker and darker until at long last it was completely covered and seemed to be made of dark red light. Once the moon changed color everything seemed to halt. John and Sherlock could feel it. The Keep felt quieter than normal, everything felt still, like everything everywhere were holding it’s breath.

“John.” breathed Sherlock. John felt a shock of dismay and concern fill his lover. It was time. The blood moon had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Life has me in it's grip. :( I've had no time to finish the latest chapter, try as I might to chip some out. I apologize for the delay. It's killing me not writing. I will try to sort something out soon.


	10. In the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blood moon has arrived yet none of them has any idea what is coming for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting. Honestly I lost the thread of my whole concept due to circumstances so I'm unsure of this chapter because well....I was interrupted mid-story. Story-interruptus. It throws you off your stroke.

[image from:](http://www.landscapehdwalls.com/misty-dark-forest-2562/)

 

The Keep must have made them rest because John woke up some time later beside Sherlock feeling as if he’d been asleep for a long time. The moon hung in exactly the same position, still glowing darkly, the reddish light casting its colors over everything. The Keep was dim and it felt subdued. Sherlock looked concerned and he was filled with anxious worry. They could smell breakfast and though Sherlock was all nerves they managed to eat, John putting his food away methodically. He had no idea what would be happening today, when he’d get to eat again, who they were fighting, what would be happening to Sherlock during the battle, nothing.  After their meal the Keep gave him time to shower with Sherlock and to prepare himself as much as possible to be encased in steel for an untold amount of time.

When they came out there were two wooden figures standing by the fireplace. The first was John’s new armor, beautifully crafted to Sherlock and Jim’s specifications and he was astounded at the deadly beauty of it. It seemed to be made of shining scales from head to toe and the strange fittings that Sherlock had designed were hidden beneath movable portions of the exterior. The helmet was gently peaked, the shoulders, elbows, and calves bearing rows of razor sharp blades that fanned out menacingly, “Be careful how you touch it,” cautioned the taller man, “It’s sharp.”

There was a new felt liner to slip on as well, this one softer and made of jet black material. It fit John perfectly and was almost unnoticeable when he got it on. Sherlock showed him where to place his fingers to hold each section carefully as he climbed into one piece after another. Once he was in it he could barely feel the weight, the straps didn’t pinch anywhere, and the weight was so evenly distributed John didn’t need to over-correct at all to compensate. It was amazing. The slightly peaked helmet fit over his head and gave him a vaguely insect-like appearance. Though it couldn’t be seen from the outside he was able to see clearly all around him, the leaves protected his eyes along with a very finely woven but hardened metal mesh but somehow he was able to see through them as if there were no obstruction whatsoever.  The armor made an almost inaudible shimmering sound when he moved, “Come along John, to the armory. Everything should be waiting.”

John paused and nodded his head at the other form. He took his helmet off and said, “I think that’s for you Sherlock.”

There was an elaborate robe waiting for Sherlock, all in silver and black. There was long hose for his legs, a tunic, deep soft boots, and a fur lined cape covered in scarlet silk. With reluctance Sherlock dressed. He looked wild and beautiful in it and grudgingly he admitted he was very warm and comfortable. John kissed him before carefully taking his hand to lead him away. Both men wondered at the new clothing, it didn’t bode well. For the entire time they had resided in the Keep everyone had worn the simple earthy colors of fur and well-tanned leather. The brightness of the scarlet was almost disconcerting but gave Sherlock an almost innocent appearance despite the brilliance of the hue.

Moran was just arriving as they reached the armory. He looked as resplendent as John. Moriarty was dressed almost identically to Sherlock, his ice-blue cape was cut slightly differently, and the tall soft boots they both had were laced with a faintly different pattern. The vampires regarded the other with seriousness, “Ready?”

“Let’s get them set up.” said James. There was nothing further to discuss. They had prepared as much as they were able to and without a word the soldiers simply followed along.

Sebastian and John were made to stand in the center of the room. Once there Sherlock and James showed them how to attach their various weapons to the fittings they had created specifically for them. Now their armaments were part of their armor and easily available! “This is amazing.” said John as Sherlock fit him with a mass of weaponry, making John kneel, bend, twist, and even jump around to make sure things would stay where they were supposed to and not interfere with his mobility. It all worked smoothly. Sherlock smiled with gentle pride as John remarked again and again over its design. Once a weapon was removed the leaves around the fitting fell back into place, protecting John once again.

“The leaves are sharp. Should you be netted or caught with anything but metals the armor should cut its way through it.” Both John and Sebastian felt relief at that bit of information. The armor was incredible, “There are layers. Should you be struck with a percussive weapon the leaves and the structure we’ve created beneath it should disperse the impact, rendering the blow useless. The pattern will encourage blows by weapons like swords to glance off away from vulnerable place like your neck. Similarly arrows or darts will be able to make contact but the leaves will once again negate their harmful intent and render them mere annoyances.” Sherlock looked dissatisfied, “We didn’t have time to test anything. It’s all theoretical right now. I just…”

“Well we’re still in the Keep. Sebastian and I can take a test run. I don’t think it would have given the new armor to us if it wasn’t better than what’s already available.” Both men moved to the center of the room and squared off. Moran wasted no time drawing a sword and lashed out savagely at John who stood there and took it. They could hear metal on metal but John barely felt anything. He took a mace to Sebastian and the big man simply shrugged. John got to enjoy slicing his way out of a well thrown net, the trap falling to pieces around him, and when he tried to use a man-trap on Moran the spring-catch mechanism was easily frayed by the leaves on Moran’s neck-guard and the contraption fell apart as easily as the net had. Both men were heartened.

John was about to tell Sherlock how impressed he was when suddenly they were deafened by the sound of battle horns. It sounded like a dozen of them blaring all around them, and the Keep shuddered. The sound seemed to be coming from the cracks between the stones, as if the Keep were unable to shield them from the din. It was impossible to walk, John couldn’t get to Sherlock. Everyone had a hard time just keeping their feet as the Keep clearly struggled to compose itself, the stones beneath them buckling and tilting sickeningly. Suddenly they weren’t in it anymore! John and Sebastian both rocked back on their heels for only a second before instantly going back to back, shields up as they looked everywhere.

They were alone in the woods, just the two of them, the mist swirling around them. Sebastian took a critical look around, “The terrain…I don’t recognize this but look, the Keep, I can see it. This forest, it wasn’t like this before.” The tower was behind them in the distance, it was hard to gauge how far away it was, a kilometer? Two? The dim light that illuminated the Keep seemed to light up the area around them dimly. The fog was still thick, it obscured much but John could see they were surrounded by vast trees whose roots and branches tangled thickly all over, making it almost impassable except for a maze of narrow paths that led between them. If they kept more than a few feet from one another they’d lose sight of each other. There was a clearing off to one side but filled with sharp jagged rocks overgrown with mosses and lichen, it looked like it was made of stone teeth. In the distance they could hear the clang of metal, and a roar of snarls. Canines! John could feel Sherlock’s concern and dismay at the abruptness of everything but John was glad his lover was away someplace safe, deep in the Keep somewhere. “John. Look.”

Out of the darkness rode four people on horses and in front of them walked four others. The horses were heavily armored, the people on them sheathed head to foot in smooth steel but the people on foot wore clothing that was made up more of straps and buckles than they were of any kind of fabric or fur, their hair was dramatically coiled and colored, their eyes wild.  All four of them wore gently shining silver collars. Two were men and two were women. John couldn’t tell for sure but he was willing to bet that the four horsemen were also a pair of men and another pair of women. There was a weird kind of balance to it. “John, look at the size of those hammers!”

The riders all bore massive iron hammers, all plainly made, all on long and slightly curved handles. “What the fuck are they for?” John was mystified. The rider’s mounts bristled with weapons but they made no move to attack. As soon as John spoke all four of the individuals on foot raised their heads and sniffed at the air, their heads turning as one to fix on John and Sebastian. “That’s fucking creepy.”

“That really doesn’t look good.” said Sebastian under his breath. All four bared their teeth and snarled; their teeth were long and sharp, making all their faces suddenly inhuman and deeply disturbing. John could feel Sherlock’s anxiety rising to match his and he willed himself to calm. He didn’t know what kind of creatures these were but clearly they weren’t your garden variety baddie.

Suddenly he felt Sherlock become intensely alarmed, Sebastian swore loudly and then shouted, “Jim!”

John’s heart dropped. Two of the horses pulled ahead. They were pulling two barred cages. One held Sherlock, the other held Jim. Both men looked terrified, their fine robes showing up brilliantly against the misty forest, “Oh my god, Sherlock! No, no, how?” Sherlock was clutching the bars and staring at John, his mouth moving but John could hear nothing. He felt Sherlock’s heart racing, he was filled with fear. Sherlock! One of the horsemen leaned down and said something to the vampires, something that made them both look sick as well as terrified. The sensation of distress coupled with revulsion welled up inside John and he wanted to scream. What had Sherlock heard?

“John! _We have to get them_ , oh my god _Jim_!” Neither man hesitated. They ran directly toward the group in front of them. The four on the ground snarled as one, all of them reaching up to remove their collars smoothly, dropping them to the forest floor and leaping toward John and Sebastian.

The two riders hauling Sherlock and Jim began to pull laboriously away, the tangle of tree roots and jagged rocks hampering their retreat and the soldiers realized the vampires were being dragged to the edges of the forest. They had no idea what affect it would have on their lovers. Would they simply return to the Keep, be safely removed? Sherlock was in a state of heightened anxiety and every step away from John lessened their connection. John’s feeling of panic increased even as he ran over the uneven ground. Right in front of his horrified eyes all four people seemed to shimmer and shudder, dropping to all fours and becoming huge furred beasts. “Fucking _wolves_ Sebastian! Why am I not surprised?”

“ _Fairy tales_!” snarled the large man as they ran, they were so close, so close to their foes, “Jim always loved fairy tales. Now look at us, living in a fucking tower, all this moon shite, and those old stories never ended well, that’s why he liked them. Run John! _They’re going to kill them_! FUCK!” John would never have suspected such emotion from Sebastian Moran but the tall man was in a rage of fearsome worry, he needed to save his Jim, he would hesitate at nothing and neither would John, he’d never lose Sherlock, not for anything. John’s heart beat hard and fast as his entire being rejected the concept that Sherlock could ever be lost to him, not again. There was nothing John wasn’t willing to do to save his Sherlock. He’d kill every single being in this forest if he had to. Their armor shimmered as they ran, the metallic chime like a soothing balm to their ears. John could almost feel Sebastian coil up, ready to attack. They charged.

The creatures were vaguely dog-like but not wolves as John thought of them. These creatures were almost deformed, narrow limbed and ragged looking, their eyes insane with the lust to bite, to tear. The straps they had worn as humans still wrapped around their bodies, protecting vulnerable points but John and Sebastian saw plenty more. The soldiers moved.

The terrain kept the beasts from attacking all at once which clearly was their preferred method. There was no room for finesse, the soldiers drew swords in one hand and long knives in the other and attacked. It was brutal. The beasts had long sharp teeth that skittered and tore at their new armor, cutting their muzzles to bloody strips that healed nearly instantly. Both men swore when they saw their enemy had the same advantage. 

The beasts were fast and savage, pressing every advantage they saw without mercy. John could feel the heat of them, could smell the weird musk of their fur, the stench of their breath. They were definitely carnivores, their teeth razor sharp and slashing. Shifting almost without thought John and Sebastian moved so they were standing back to back once more, fending off the repeat attacks from all four beasts.  “Why are you here?” roared John in frustration, their thrusts and parries barely enough to keep the attackers away, allowing Sherlock and Jim to disappear slowly into the misty forest.

One of the beasts drew back, panting, its mouth twisting strangely as it spoke, “If we break the heart we will win this Keep. This time we know where the heart-stones are, we are prepared to destroy them if the Keep does not bend to our will. Once our masters feed they will be strong enough to overwhelm the Keep. We will live _forever_.”

“Feed? Feed on what?” Sebastian didn’t stop fighting and neither did John. The wolf snapped off a few more bites and almost grinned, its lips curling up over its fangs, “ _On the undead_. We will take their strength, break your bond so you will not die with them, share their blood, and finish the cycle. You will be a soldier for eternity, serving only the masters. You cannot stop this. You are already too late. We will free you of their predations. We are here to rescue you from their perverse attentions.”

Both John and Sebastian were horrified. Sherlock and Jim were going to be assaulted then murdered, John and Sebastian severed and enslaved, the Keep taken over and forced? John roared and attacked, he wasn’t going to fail his Sherlock! Moran was by his side as they worked together, hacking and slicing their enemies to pieces. It seemed futile, their strange bodies pulling together swiftly, their attacks unceasing. The soldiers felt their anxiety ratchet ever higher as they lost all sight of their lovers. Out of sheer desperation John managed to kill one first, driving his knife through its skull. It collapsed bonelessly, its tongue hanging out, unmoving and un-healing. The other wolves went mad but now the soldiers knew their weakness.

John felt a jolt of indignation followed by mortified horror and despair. They were doing something to Sherlock! “No! No! DON’T TOUCH HIM!” John was filled with such rage. No one could touch Sherlock except him! No one could lay a single finger on his lover, Sherlock was his!

“JIM!” Sebastian was as horrified as John, “I WILL FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!” he was almost roaring with fury. The soldiers redoubled their efforts. They had to save Sherlock and Jim, they had to! There were only three wolves left but all of them seemed stronger, faster than before. It didn’t matter. The bites they managed to land did nothing to John or Sebastian but the animals were so fast it was almost impossible to tell if their strikes had landed or not. The soldiers knew the wolves were there not to win, but to delay them just long enough.

Two of the leapt at the same time, their heavy bodies crashing into John, knocking him to the ground in a clatter of metal, “Feel this _hell spawn_!” one of them growled in his ear and John felt something shatter against his armor, “Impossible!” it growled again. John looked; he was nearly lying on shards of metal. Whatever the beast had tried to pierce him with was in pieces. “These blades have severed all the previous champions of the Keep, what new magic is this?” The wolf leaped backward, shifting into its canine form as it went.

“Science.” snarled John, twisting where he was and driving a bladed backhand into the face of the wolf that had him pinned. It was human shaped again but John saw very little difference in their eyes. The wolves were mad. Insane. Barely functional. Their eyes were wild in a way that meant nothing about how in touch with nature they were, these were ravening killers.

Clearly this was a battle that had happened time and again. It was obvious to John now that from the state of the Keep when they’d first arrived it was a battle it hadn’t won fully in a long time. It had resisted possession but had lost its defenders. Well, it had chosen wisely this time. There was nothing that was going to stop John Watson or Sebastian Moran from saving their lovers. Nothing. In perfect synchronicity with one another John and Sebastian drove their daggers into the eyes of the wolves closest to them. The last remaining wolf howled in despair, then snarled savagely as it turned tail and bolted off into the mist, “Seb, run, run! We have to reach them.”

Taking no time to catch their breaths both men ran as fast as they were able, forcing around obstacles again and again as they nearly wept with frustration. The paths diverged in all directions once they reached the forest, the ground was hard and dry but Sebastian looked closely, noting small scrapes and mars in the dim, “There, John, this one.” John withdrew a long thin sword as well as a mace; Sebastian readied a dart and had a long wicked blade in his other hand. One path at a time Sebastian found a trace of wheel, a dent of hoof, all markers that finally led them through the deathly silent woods.

“ _Don’t_!” It was shocking when soldier’s heard Jim’s voice, they couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. The vampire sounded almost desperate, his high sweet voice shaky and filled with resigned misery, “I’ll go first, just leave him alone!” John saw Sebastian’s face become pale, heard Jim’s voice plead, “Sherlock, don’t look. Just close your eyes.”

“No!” Sherlock! John heard the outrage, the fear that colored his lover’s voice, “Don’t touch him! Don’t touch me! Why are you doing this?” Sherlock sounded furious now and John could feel his lover intensely. Sherlock was still terrified, repulsed by whatever was about to happen to them but he was getting irate finally. “I don’t think you understand whom you have angered.”

“The Keep doesn’t frighten me hell spawn. Once the ritual is done it will have no way to prevent me from taking anything I want.” the voice was female and she sounded amused, “It will be worth desecrating myself a single time to purchase eternity.”

“I’m gay. I can’t have sex with you. That’s not the way it works!” exclaimed Sherlock petulantly and John nearly laughed. His lover was insane! Here they were trying to find their way through a fucking tree-root maze to get to him and he was making John laugh!

“Pry his mouth open.” the woman ordered and John felt Sherlock’s anxiety replace his anger once more. John and Sebastian moved faster, feeling their lover’s close by but unable to figure out which paths to choose. Both men were wild with frustration, they seemed to be going in circles now! The woman spoke again, “Give that a few minutes. Do the other one. Once that kicks in they’ll fuck anything.” What had she done?

Whatever it was it couldn’t be good. John snarled instantly, a possessive rage filling him like fire. _This was never happening_. With a roar he ripped loose a broadsword from his weaponry and hacked savagely at the tree-roots around them. The forest seemed to shudder much like the Keep had earlier and John felt satisfied when the roots pulled back quickly, untangling themselves to get out of his way before he chopped through the entire forest to get to Sherlock. They were nearly at the stone bridge that had brought them to London, just down the slope from the moss covered stones. There was a small clearing, the open space defined on the far side by a chasm that held the unseen river that slashed deeply through the landscape.

Sherlock and Jim were in the center, their backs to the bridge. The vampires were chained to two low chairs. The position was odd; both men leaning far back, their knees spread apart, their calves lashed to the heavy wooden legs while their arms were extended to the sides. Their heads were strapped back as well so they were vulnerable and exposed in every way possible. Sherlock’s robes were pushed open, the top of his trousers loose. Beside each were two armored people and two empty cups. There was something greenish staining the lips of both men, and neither vampire could help looking right at their lovers as John and Sebastian burst through the last of the barrier and attacked. Sherlock’s voice was drugged and lazy sounding but he still managed to say smugly, “I tried to warn you.”

“Break the heart-stones!” cried one of the armored invaders. This one sounded male. He snatched up a large hammer and raced to the stone bridge. Swinging hard he managed to strike one of the pillars that made up its foundation. The Keep made a discordant sound much like a scream as its stones grating against one another as it was attacked.

“Seb, cut them loose!” shouted John who took tugged a small ax from his collection. With practiced ease he drew back then released. The small weapon tumbled through the air before cleaving into the helmet of the invader who was raising his hammer a second time. The strike never happened, he fell where he stood, ax in hand. Now John was fending off the next invader while Sebastian took on the ones who had fed Sherlock and Jim whatever concoction they had poured down their throat. One of the women broke free, snatched up her ax and ran to the bridge. She managed to raise it above her head before John threw one of his many shuriken, one of its long thin blades punching through the steel of her armor and continuing through her wrist. The ax dropped straight down onto her helmet and she crumbled without a sound.

John heard the growl just as he was knocked straight forward. The last wolf had crept up behind him, momentarily forgotten as the soldier’s focused on the horsemen. He felt it’s body weight shift as it transformed and to his horror he felt his helmet being pulled off, “FUCK OFF YOU CUNT!” suddenly the weight was gone, it’s sudden absence accompanied with a pained yelp and then definite silence. Moran hauled John to his feet, jammed his helmet on firmly and ran off toward a horseman who was attempting to reach the bridge with his hammer.

“Stop!” the last woman left was standing behind Sherlock, a blade at his throat, a long ruby droplet already coursing down, “Let my man free or yours dies.” John glanced at Sebastian who had tackled the horsemen awkwardly to the ground, “I will destroy the hell-spawn without hesitation!”

“Stop!” shouted John over his shoulder. Sebastian was about to drive a thin blade through the eye-piece of the man’s helmet but froze when John called.

The woman smirked and pressed her blade harder into Sherlock’s throat as she pulled her helmet off. Her hair was black and tied back in a complicated braid. Her skin was warm and brown, her eyes dark and liquid, her lips full and slightly reddened. She was exquisite. John’s entire body thrummed with desperate fear, he couldn’t lose Sherlock, not now, not like this, “Disgusting. All of you are pathetic, how do you even want to live like this? You’re a blood-bag, a fuck-toy, an accessory to their unnatural existence. Why would you choose this freakish life? I’d rather die.”

“Alright.” said Jim pleasantly, standing behind her, “I’ve never liked blood on my hands but you’re about to kill my best friend.”

John was astounded. He’d seen the blur that was Moriarty. The small man had shrugged in a peculiar way and simply broken out of his bonds. John looked at Sherlock who had a manic grin on his face. The woman looked entirely horrified and in the distance John could hear Sebastian laughing. A small wink and a surge of pride was felt from his lover and right in front of John’s eyes the metal cuffs that held Sherlock’s arms wide simply fell open and in less than a blink Sherlock was out from under the blade and standing coquettishly in John’s arms, carefully not touching any of the leafy blades that covered the exterior, “We weren’t sure that would work. Surprise John.”

John was grinning in delight. They’d won! Sebastian dragged the last horseman back to them by his ankle, the man’s head banging ignominiously along the ground as he struggled to get free. Jim had the woman by the throat, his small thin fingers pressed against her jugular menacingly, “Hi handsome.” Jim winked flirtatiously at Sebastian who laughed again.

“You little fucker, what did you do?” Sebastian’s voice was proud and admiring. John grinned behind his helmet at the huge smile that covered Sherlock’s face.

“We read the books, my sweet angel, we read all the books. You know how I love stories Sebby my sweet, and these were the _best_ stories I ever laid eyes on.” Jim’s voice was fond and full of gentle pride, “Sherlock put all the little bits together after I rooted them out and we figured it out while you and John were denting each other.” The blade that had been in the woman’s hand was now at her throat. Jim leaned close, his face filled with anger, “ _You were going to rape him_. Now _that’s_ disgusting. As for me, well I probably could live with a little rape, I’ve had a colorful past; I mean I wouldn’t _love_ it but I could probably deal with it but him? No, that was never going to happen sugar. You are _so_ lucky we’re here now because if we were back in the days when my heart beat on its own then you’d be having the very worst day _ever_.” There was such menace in his softly spoken words, he spat each one out into her ear with care. “I would _skin_ you.”

“You can take my body but you will never have my soul!” she cried, attempting to sound valiant.

“ _Ew!_ I don’t want your body! What would I want you…or him….when I have _that_?” Jim leered at Sebastian who chuckled, his helmet still firmly in place. “No, I don’t want anything from you but your absence but since you insist on visiting I may as well get some information out of you. We love information. We just _eat it up_.” The last three words were filled with dark promise and the woman looked revolted as well as horrified.

Sebastian and John picked up the last horseman and forced him to his knees in front of the woman, wrenching his helmet off and throwing it to the ground. The man inside was middle-age, his face seasoned and hard, his eyes dark but filled with contempt and a promise of vengeance. His hair was as pale as his skin. “You can kill us but you will never be able to stop the Hunters! Others will come!”

“Your people have a very harsh outlook on life. Why must it be _all or death_ with you? What’s the deal anyway, come on, tell daddy.” Jim leaned closer to the woman, “You know you want to tell us, go ahead and explain why you came here, made us drink that repellent sludge, and then pawed us so rudely? We haven’t done anything to you. I’d remember. That’s what I do.”

Both of them looked appalled, their eyes darting back and forth between Jim and Sherlock. “You’re… not what we… what are you?”

“Oh, we’re insane. Well we _were_. Well _I_ was, _he_ was probably borderline insane but I crossed _that_ line years ago; don’t get me started with the stories. I _love_ stories, fairy tales especially. Do you read? Probably not or you wouldn’t be here.” Jim stood back up and caressed her neck with her blade. It made both horsemen shiver, “You see, in the _real_ stories, the _old_ stories, there is no _happily ever after_. There’s just real life, and life is exactly what you make of it. There are no good guys or bad guys, there are only people who make do with whatever is around them in order to survive. Like me. Like him. We’ll do anything to survive because surviving means _they_ live. If you’d read you would have realized there’s one thing that breaks all spells, one thing that outlasts everything else, one thing that magic can’t touch and can’t change.”

The man and woman looked at each other, clearly puzzled. Sherlock looked exasperated and snapped, “Its _love_ , you idiots. You can’t win this Keep because we love _them_ therefore we will always win. We read the old stories. True love always wins, even the _till death do us part_ ones. We’ve done the _do us part_ bit, we’ve past that point in the story. You can’t win against us ever, not unless our love dies and I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. That’s not the point of this conversation, you were about to explain why you came here and you will do it or I will ask to have your head removed slowly. He’d do it. He wouldn’t like it but I’m betting he would twist your head right off slowly _for me_.” John shrugged. It would be messy but yes, if Sherlock really wanted him to it was technically possible for John to kill them like that. He hoped they just answered his questions because doing _that_ would be unspeakably nauseating.

The man hung his head, clearly dejected. After he’d thought for a moment he gave a weary sigh, “There’s more than one Keep. They’re all over the place. They’re all different, they do different things. There are a few people that can find them, a few families with special talents have kept track of them. They aren’t accessible unless they’re occupied and they can’t be occupied until a deal is made. These _creatures_ are suicides. They killed themselves. That’s how the wolves died too, they died, they made a deal with a Keep, they lived again. Killing yourself isn’t a guarantee to find a Keep, it picks and chooses in whatever way it wants, they are all different as I said. This one… this one lets its Players live for as long as they want, for as long as they can. It coddles them in a way no other Keep does. You have to be pair-bonded to feed…” he shuddered, clearly disturbed by what was necessary for Sherlock and Jim to continue existing, “Most of the severed have been grateful to be released. They’ve refused to speak of their ordeals. The Keeps are many and they play a game with each other. We are but pieces, you are no different.”

John felt a heat creep into Sherlock and he drew off his helmet. The horsemen looked surprised that he would expose himself like this but there was nothing to fear, not now. Whatever potion the vampires had been fed was beginning to kick in, John could feel it. Jim closed his eyes and gave a delicate shudder, “Who told you what to do?”

There was no answer for a moment but Sherlock leaned down and looked the man right in the eyes, holding his gaze steadily. The man sounded dazed when he answered slowly, “We’ve studied vampires. We know blood exchange is necessary. We know sex is necessary. We would have killed you right after we changed.” Sherlock’s lip curled back, “That wouldn’t have worked would it.” the man sounded faintly horrified, as if he were waking up from a bad dream that was turning out to be no dream at all.

“No. We cannot pass along our gift. _The blood is the life_ ; their blood, not ours, their life, not ours. _We_ cannot be killed, we’re already dead. We will protect them in all the ways we can imagine and we can imagine a great deal.” Sherlock looked at John, “Let them go.”

“What?” John was instantly outraged, “They attacked us! They were going to rape you and destroy everything!”

“They did what they were told to do, listen to their words John. They’re game pieces as are we. They came, they played, now they can go back to whatever small-minded box they came from, never to return.”

“The scroll said “to win is to destroy” doesn’t that kind of mean, well, doesn’t that mean we have to kill them?” asked Sebastian.

Jim shrugged, “Sherlock and I argued about that for a bit. I’d say these two are pretty destroyed. All their preconceptions about what we’re like have turned to shit. We’ve killed all the rest of them. Think of it as a pre-emptive strike. We can let these two go, they can take those horses out of here before they defecate all over our nice clean forest, then they can blab to everyone about how this Keep has upped its market value by way of being impossible to acquire. There’s a game being played, just as they said. The next blood moon, and no doubt there will be many, will bring more people just like them, only this time we know what the deal is.”

“Fairy tales.” grouched Sebastian, hauling the man in front of him to his feet. John grasped the woman by her arms and together they marched them toward the stone bridge. Sherlock and Jim followed behind leading the horses by their reins. Spitefully Sherlock smacked all four steeds sharply on their behinds, sending them galloping off into the forest. “Off you go. Thanks for dropping by.” Sebastian waved at the awkwardly retreating backs of the horsemen as they clattered over the stones, trying to preserve their dignity while moving as quickly as they could to leave their humiliation behind. “That was almost disappointing.”

“Shut it Sebby.” Jim was looking up at the tall man hotly. John looked at Sherlock. The vampire was filled with a hunger much like he was when he needed to feed. Whatever had been in the drink was kicking in. “Let’s get back inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be brutally honest.... :\


	11. Two times two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sebastian have met their enemies on the field of battle and have come out victorious but the vampires are not unscathed.

 

The Keep had clearly suffered during the brief altercation though honestly, none of them could say how long it had actually lasted. It seemed like only a few minutes to John. The moon was shifting once again, sliding with strange swiftness across the sky as the blackness drained off of it, leaving it to gleam brightly in the sky once more as the fog swallowed up the forest and chased them back to the Keep. The bodies that had lain scattered where they fell seemed to fall into dust, collapsing into nothingness as their small group made their way back to their home. John peered into the woods around them, wondering if the attacks were entirely over or if there was more on the way. He neither heard nor saw anything threatening but stayed wary.

Moran was also taking no chances; he gripped Moriarty’s hand as he nearly ran the entire distance. John stayed as close as he could safely get to his lover and they were nearly running too, John slightly behind Sherlock, his hand on the vampire’s back to urge him to go as quickly as he could. He felt nothing but relief when their boots finally struck flat stone, their legs pumping as fast as they could so they could get back inside. They skidded to a halt at the main entrance and waited. There was no abrupt shift to bring them to their rooms so instead they climbed the stone stairs higher and higher, racing down one hallway after another to get to the next set of stairs. The sense of timelessness was returning until John realized he and Sherlock were alone and almost at their door.

Their chamber was cold and quiet. Sherlock was nearly frantic with need but John made him wait until a fire had been lit and well stoked before stripping off his armor and dumping it on the floor. Sherlock was desperate, “It’s burning me up inside John. I need you. I need you _right now_.”

John was worried; he didn’t know what Sherlock had been given but it was affecting the younger man strongly. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and dilated, his skin drawn tight over his bones as if he really were caught in a fever. The soldier could feel the hunger inside Sherlock and it felt wrong. John could feel how his lover had been forced, that his reactions weren’t natural, if anything they did together could be seen as natural. Still, in the few feedings that John had been a part of never once had he felt this rancid and dark oily craving that was bubbling up inside Sherlock, consuming the vampire, stripping away his reason until the tall thin man was only lust inside. “John.” he growled, the galaxy of his eyes intense and brilliant.

Sherlock was on him, throwing John down onto the bed savagely. He bit at John, lightning fast strikes piercing through his scant garb, the vampire’s mouth leaving twin crescents in scarlet all over John’s chest and arms, the stains of blood the only evidence that Sherlock was nearly hitting bone as the wounds healed one after the other. Sherlock wasn’t rational at all. When John looked into his eyes he saw nothing of the intelligence that defined his lover, there was only need, the need for blood, the need for sex. The horsemen said the vampires would be willing to fuck anything, she had been prepared to take Sherlock to destroy him, it wasn’t about _feeding_ the vampire. They clearly didn’t comprehend how the feeding cycle actually worked, the vampires finished the cycle by taking in their lovers. This was very clearly not what was happening this time.

John swallowed and realized what he was in for. For a moment it hurt that Sherlock would do this to him but then John realized Sherlock was _not_ , the others had done _this_ to Sherlock and if the vampire didn’t have sex with John he’d just go out and find someone else to have sex with. He wouldn’t care that it would by necessity have to be Sebastian or Jim or possibly both. Sherlock would hate himself more for doing _that_ than he would for finding out he’d been too rough with his doctor.

John made a decision. He would heal; he wasn’t going to take whatever happened personally. For a searing moment he was filled with rage that this was happening, that the people who had given this concoction to his lover had simply walked away. This was going to be devastating for the younger man, not only to find out that he’d lost control yet again, but that John had suffered because of it. Already John was forgiving him. Sherlock wasn’t in possession of his higher senses; the vampire was compelled to operate only on the basest of now uncontrolled instincts that were currently making their heartless demands. John wrenched Sherlock’s head up, kissing him hard, tasting his own blood on his lover’s lips as well as the burn of the potion that still stained the corner of the vampire’s mouth, “Whatever you need Sherlock, take it. It’s okay.” It didn’t matter if Sherlock could understand him; John needed to give Sherlock his permission clearly. There wasn’t anything John wouldn’t willingly do for his lover; this was a small sacrifice to make if it meant keeping Sherlock alive.

It was still bloody and painful but the soldier didn’t resist, merely accepting whatever came as stoically as he could. Sherlock tore away John’s clothes, pinning him face down on the bed, his mouth latched onto the nape of John’s neck. Long pale stripes appeared momentarily wherever Sherlock’s fingers clawed at him until he was entirely bare, the felt under-padding he’d worn now in shreds, and his legs forced wide. John fought back long enough to furiously struggle to get the lube which he managed to slather over Sherlock’s already rock hard cock, the vampire sliding sensuously over his slick hand for only a moment before he snarled and slapped it away. John bit his lip and braced himself when Sherlock then forced the doctor’s hands above his head with one hand and lined himself up with the other.

John’s eyes snapped shut and he tasted his own blood again as he bit through his lip. The agony was sharp and intense, Sherlock had wasted not one second thrusting as deeply as he could and began a quick and punishing pace. The stretch was too great, the lube barely adequate and when it grew slicker John knew his body had torn and bled, healing itself over and over again after each excruciating stab. The pain peaked when Sherlock’s mouth fastened on his neck once again, tearing at John without the soothing licks that previously made it painless. John couldn’t help his shouts, and Sherlock’s hungry growl sounded wet and horrifying. It was almost worse than the ceaseless drive of his slim hips as he rode John mercilessly.

John wondered if time had stopped again because it wasn’t ending. Sherlock was swallowing deeply and continuously now; John was feeling weaker despite the near instantaneous healing. His body needed to draw its resources from somewhere to replenish the blood he was losing, John could barely win his fight to stay conscious. Suddenly his whole body rock forward, sliding up the bedding as Sherlock slammed into him with inhuman strength, his mouth finally tearing away from John’s neck as he gave a great cry and came. John felt Sherlock spill deep within him, and found that he was nearly sobbing with relief as the vampire withdrew abruptly, falling to the side to lay on the pillows to pant and tremble. The physical pain faded away after less than a minute but John couldn’t help himself; he curled up into as tight a ball as he could get himself into and just shook with shock. He could smell his blood; the sheets were damp with it. Tears were still streaming down his face when his body finally gave out, too weak to sustain consciousness and an emotional overload at the same time.

It was ice cold in the chamber when John came round some time later, Sherlock’ s hand fluttering over him, the feeling of anxiety rolling off the vampire in palpable waves, “John! John wake up, John’s there’s so much blood everywhere. What did I do to you? Oh John, _please_ my darling, please, please wake up. John!” Sherlock was weeping, nearly hysterical with distress, “What did I _do_? What have I _done_! _John_!”

John felt himself being cradled in Sherlock’s arms. He was still so tired; he could barely open his eyes. He felt hollow inside, “Sher…” he slurred. He couldn’t make his mouth move right. He was so very tired. His mouth was dry and he felt like he was burning up, “Water.” he managed to say it clearly at least. He felt sticky all over, and when he got his eyes open properly John could see that the bed was ruined, dark stains marring the center of the sheets garishly. He closed his eyes again; unable to deal with the visual confirmation of what had happened.

John felt himself being lifted. It took some effort on Sherlock’s part to ease the soldier off the bedding, the macabre tackiness causing the fabric to cling to John. John was so weak, his arms hanging limply, his head lolling until Sherlock managed to get it onto his shoulder before carrying the soldier to the sofa. The scent of his lover was soothing and John drew in a deep lungful to steady himself, “The trolley is here.” Sherlock’s voice was tight, the anxiety not diminishing a bit as he gently arranged the soldier, propping him up on the cushions and carefully tucking a blanket around him. Sherlock swiftly built up the fire, dragging the sofa with John on it closer to the flames so he would remain warm, “You look severely dehydrated. From the amount of food here I’d wager you need a lot of calories, fast.” John felt something metal at his lips, a teaspoon. Sherlock fed him one small sip of water after another until John had sipped his way through four large glasses of it and was able to sit up on his own.

Sherlock fed him a savory soup before cutting small sandwiches into even smaller pieces and popping the bite sized morsels into John’s mouth one at a time until they were all gone. He then peeled and sliced several pieces of fruit, alternating their tartness with bits from the array of cheese that was there until John felt a tiny bit revived and was able to eat on his own. Sherlock didn’t let him. Instead the vampire silently fed the soldier one small bite after another, saying not a word as he gave John more sips of water until he was ready for hot tea, feeding him with care and patience until the trolley was empty and John couldn’t take in another bite. He felt almost normal.

Sherlock drew John from the sofa after stoking their fire and brought him to the shower where he washed away the traces of dried blood that covered the doctor front and back. John felt Sherlock’s internal distress begin to spike as the bottom of the shower turned dark pink for a minute as the last of it rinsed away. When John was clean from head to toe Sherlock drew him to the tub, filling it quickly and helping John ease into it, encouraging the soldier to lie back onto his chest, enfolding John in his long thin arms.

They’d been in there for several minutes when John felt Sherlock’s chest heave, and then the vampire was shaking as he wept into John’s hair, “Tell me John. What did I do? How did I h...h…hurt you?”

John twisted around until he was straddling Sherlock’s lap, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s narrow shoulders to hold him tight. John kissed Sherlock’s forehead several times. Taking a deep breath John exhaled and made himself speak, keeping it as brief as possible, “You needed to have sex so we did. You didn’t take your time. You seemed to need to bite so you did, all over. You seemed to need to feed too, it wasn’t the same but you did it. It wasn’t pleasant but it’s over Sherlock. You didn’t do this on purpose, this wasn’t anything you could control, and if we’re lucky no one will ever make that happen to you ever again. My poor Sherlock, it’s okay love, it’s okay. You didn’t do this, this wasn’t you. It’s okay.”

“Oh _John_!” Sherlock was holding John tightly but carefully, clearly reluctant to inflict even a small hurt by squeezing his lover too hard, “My beautiful, brave, marvelous John. I’m so sorry my love. I would _never_ …I’m _so_ sorry! I…I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh John, _there was_ _so much blood_!” The sheets had been stained in several places, most tellingly by John’s neck and again between his thighs.

John still felt very tired, his body nowhere near recovered enough. He needed to sleep but Sherlock was still very upset, as was John and Sherlock could feel that too. “It hurt, it did. I won’t lie. You were very rough but you weren’t part of this Sherlock, you weren’t even there. Whatever they gave you shut you down completely, your transport had no direction, it just took what it needed and I let it. You needed it; I needed you to take it so you could come back to me. I’d do it a thousand times over if you needed it. Sherlock,” John kissed the tears that still rolled down his cheeks before catching Sherlock’s flinching gaze and holding it, “ _We’ll be okay_. I need a little bit of time but we’ll be okay. We _are_ okay. This is just another battle scar, another thing that didn’t destroy us.”

“Tell me what you need John, anything, anything I can do to make you feel better.” John sagged against Sherlock’s chest and felt those long arms cinch tight around him yet again. John’s knees were on either side of Sherlock’s hips, their chests pressed together, and John rested his forehead against his lover and closed his eyes.

“I’m tired. I need to sleep again.”

“Of course John, let me help you up.” Sherlock lifted John easily. John wondered if the other Hunters understood how much stronger John and Sebastian were compared to the undeniably powerful vampires who could move as fast or as slowly as they chose, their inhuman bodies able to take so much more pain and pleasure than any ordinary person, yet still nowhere near as resilient as the soldiers’.  They’d wanted to take the vampires strength as well as their immorality, not understanding that the Keep was the only thing that could grant their wish.

Sherlock _did_ understand. It was yet another reason the vampire was so distressed at the amount of damage he had inflicted. It didn’t matter to him that John had healed immediately; Sherlock felt self-loathing and guilt at his actions. As soon as John was toweled dry he pulled Sherlock in for a slow and tender kiss, “We’re alright Sherlock. It’s all over now. I just need to rest now that I’ve eaten.”

“I know but….” Sherlock wanted to give voice to his remorse but John silenced him with another kiss. Sherlock sighed and kissed John back, “Let me help you to bed.”

The mess in their room was erased, everything freshly remade, John’s armor standing in the corner beneath an impressive wall display of all the weaponry that went with it. Sherlock just escorted John straight to bed, reluctant at first to pull back the heavy duvet, both men relieved when only snow white sheets were revealed. Sherlock tucked John into the middle and spooned up behind him cautiously, “Is this alright?”

“It’s perfect.” said John. He was full, warm, and felt Sherlock snugged tight against his back. Perhaps he should have felt disturbed that someone who had savaged him so fiercely was so close to him but John felt nothing of the sort. He had his Sherlock back, and even though it was rough at the moment they were together. As far as John was concerned the price had been worth it. He turned in Sherlock’s arms and snuggled in, his arm draped over Sherlock’s hip in a sleepy embrace, “I love you.”

“I love you too John. My beautiful John, sleep now my angel. I’ll be with you.” John drifted off to the feel of Sherlock’s lips pressing again and again to his forehead and hair, the vampire reassuring both of them with his tender caresses. With a small smile and a contented heart John drifted away.

Sherlock was face down in the pillows when John finally woke up. He smiled when he took in the charming display in front of him. Sherlock’s dark curls were this way and that, his pale skin barely darker than the sheets he was sleeping on, his face relaxed and unguarded, so sweet, so beautiful that John couldn’t stop himself from moving over and kissing Sherlock’s cheek softly. The vampires eyes fluttered open sleepily, the widened into alertness, “John?”

“Good morning beautiful.” said John warmly and kissed Sherlock’s cheek again. Sherlock twisted his head a bit so John could reach his mouth, both men shifting until they were kissing easily, holding one another loosely, hands wandering languidly over each other.

“Are you well John?” asked Sherlock after several long gentle kisses were exchanged. John closed his eyes and assessed himself. His body had long since healed, he felt a tiny bit hungry but not empty as he had before, Sherlock was worried, filled with a growing sense of guilt once more so John kissed him hard. He wasn’t going to let someone’s shitty potion ruin this part of their lives together!

“No. I’ve got a terrible urge to ravish you. I don’t think I can help myself.” John began nibbling down Sherlock’s neck, deliberately snuffling so it tickled. Against his will Sherlock laughed and tried to wiggle away. John held him down easily and kept snuffling around until Sherlock was breathless and giggling almost girlishly, “Oh no, _my hands_! I can’t stop them!” John cried dramatically and began to tickle Sherlock in earnest, pinning Sherlock’s arms above his head with one hand and sitting astride his hips, his other hand ranging around randomly. Sherlock was shouting now, desperately struggling to get away, his laughter deep and contagious.

Finally the tickles turned into caresses and Sherlock calmed beneath John, their mouths meeting again to kiss and sigh as they frotted against one another. They giggled intermittently, their mouths chasing each other as they whispered words of love to one another, drawing their pleasure out until they were nearly mad for release. When it arrived their shared orgasm was so intense that it seemed the entire chamber had filled with a white light. This was the right of it, the way they were meant to be together. Their bodies worked in beautiful harmony with each other, their love deep and rich with shared experiences, mutual understandings, and a connection that had existed long before they had taken up residence in the Keep. John could feel their love ripple out, warming the room around them, spreading from stone to stone. The Keep responded and this time John could feel it too, he understood now.

After a lot of kissing and even more loving caresses they finally had to get out of bed and race to the bathroom. Laughing and teasing they cleaned themselves up, and had what John referred to as a _good old fashioned snog_ in the shower, Sherlock leaning up against the wall with John in his arms as they simply kissed. When they finally left, their fingers wrinkled and pruned, they piled the fire high until it was roaring and went to enjoy a leisurely breakfast naked in front of it. At long last they were snuggled together on the sofa, Sherlock nuzzling John gently, “How do you forgive me again and again John?”

“There was nothing to forgive Sherlock; I should be asking _you_ for forgiveness. If we’d figured out how to kill those damn wolves faster none of this would have happened! Those fucks drugged you! I should have prevented _that_ from even happening!” John shifted to look at Sherlock better, “They triggered you to have sex. You would have killed that woman; she never would have survived you. By the time we got back here you would have taken anyone, should I have let you find Moran or Moriarty?” Sherlock looked sickened and gripped John’s forearms tightly with his hands. John continued, “I knew it would be bad and it was. I knew I would heal and I did. I knew you don’t ever want to have sex with someone other than me _or_ to find out that you’d killed someone. This was the better choice, the only option.”

Sherlock was quiet for a long time, his thoughts churning and tossing as he struggled to reconcile everything in his head. “I still feel regret.”

“I don’t.” said John instantly. He kissed Sherlock hard, “The next time we have a bit of a tussle in bed you’ll know that you can be as rough as you like, I won’t mind, I can handle it. You’ll never let yourself hurt me to be cruel, but we both know I like it when it hurts a bit.”

“You are a strangely depraved little man John Watson.” Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed again, partly in renewed arousal, partly because he was overwhelmed at the enormity of John’s love, and the endless acceptance the doctor possessed for anything relating to Sherlock.

“Well I’m having sex with a dead man, can’t get more depraved than that.” quipped John, nipping Sherlock’s plump lower lip. Sherlock’s body was warm against his, his long lean frame wrapping around John’s like alabaster ivy. Without feeling the need to even ask both men sought out Sebastian and James for the first time.

The Keep let them walk for a few minutes before allowing them to arrive at a different door. John rapped on the silvered wood lightly, and after a few moments it was pulled open, “I figured you were coming by when tea and extra cups showed up.” said Sebastian wryly, “Come in, Jim’s by the fire.”

Their chamber was surprisingly warm and homey. John wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it looked like Jim and Sherlock had more in common than just their vast intellect. There were bookcases everywhere, the décor was simple but comfortable, the colors subdued but welcoming. Sebastian had told John it felt like he’d been living with Moriarty for years though it had been only months. Their chamber certainly appeared as if the couple had been in residence for decades. The shelves bore little oddities like small statues or curios from all over the world. Art did not hang on the walls but Sebastian’s armor was on display much like John’s. Overall it looked like the residence of a quiet scholarly person with a vast interest in nearly everything under the sun, not the home of a psychotic madman. For some reason a clinical emptiness to the room would not have surprised him. Instead it looked like their chamber had been decorated by Mrs. Hudson, right down to the excess of lace doilies.

James had been lounging on one of the two small sofas in front of the fire but rose as they approached. His dark eyes flickered over to Sherlock’s and the vampires shared a regretful expression. Sebastian shook his head, “Don’t start with that Jim.” the large man went over and scooped the small man up, Moriarty’s face pale and stiff looking, his gaze dropping to the floor, “Hey, look at me. It wasn’t you babe, we’re okay.”

John felt strange when he saw their situation mirrored in the other couple. Sherlock was beginning to feel guilty again too so John took his hand quickly and pulled him toward the others. Sebastian had Jim in a tight embrace, the smaller man’s face buried in the bigger man’s robes. John looked at him with kind eyes, for the first time ever he saw that the small man was nothing like the Moriarty he had once known. He could no more remain angry or distant from James than he could with Sherlock, he was part of John’s life now, an important piece of the existence the soldier enjoyed, half the reason Sherlock was even back from the dead, “It’s really alright. Sherlock had the same reaction. It’s not the fault of either of you.”

Jim’s eyes were wide and red; he clearly wasn’t dealing with the aftermath as well as Sherlock who still felt uneasy despite John’s reassurances. “I hurt him badly…you didn’t see…there…it’s…when I woke…” Jim’s lips pressed together tight and he dropped his gaze again.

“I woke up covered in John’s dried blood. I had to peel him from the sheets. He couldn’t move on his own, he was too weak.” confessed Sherlock bleakly, “He wasn’t upset with me for a moment!” the last few words were spoken with disbelief but Sherlock knew it to be true. He would have been able to feel John’s reaction as clearly as his own and apart from his fatigue John hadn’t felt of anything but love.

James looked angry now, “We’re never letting this happen again!”  He couldn’t seem to help himself, burrowing into Sebastian’s robes to hold the larger man tightly, “I’m so sorry sweetheart! You know I am.” Jim’s voice was full of remorse.

“Hey babe, knock that shit off.” his words were firm but Sebastian’s voice was gentle and filled with so much love that John had to smile, “Look, we’re going to have some tea, have a chin wag about whatever we learned from this, and plan for the next time. Come on babe, show me how sharp you are.”

They settled themselves after getting tea, Sherlock was holding John’s hand tightly and Jim was pressed tightly to Sebastian’s side. John looked at everyone, “So?” he had an idea of what he was about to learn and was just waiting for confirmation.

“We know the Keep is sentient in its own way, and now we know there are more of them. We haven’t a clue how many but until we receive a message to the contrary we’re operating on the assumption that every eclipse will bring a battle to our doorstep.”

“How do we know when an eclipse is happening?” asked John, they hadn’t found out until the last second this time.

“I think the Keep has been trying to figure out how to tell us. Its learning just as we are, it’s going to make mistakes. We have to teach as well as learn from it. I can feel its progress, feel it learn and understand more each and every day. It wants to take care of us, not just keep us, but keep us happy, at least, as much as it’s able to. I don’t imagine an eternity of fighting endless battles is going to be much fun.” Sherlock sounded glum.

John and Sebastian looked at one another. An endless stream of battles lay in front of them; they’d fight until their love died or until they decided to cease existing on their own. That choice didn’t seem likely now but what of a thousand years from now?  “I barely got to use my weapons.” said Sebastian, his voice almost petulant.

“I didn’t even get to try the bow, there wasn’t time.” lamented John. “It was mostly swords and shuriken.”

“We did practice a lot.” stated Sebastian, sounding practical.

“We really did, it would be a shame to waste all that training.” They grinned at one another. John enjoyed how Sebastian smiled; it was toothy but strangely honest. He smiled because he felt like and for no other reason, he wasn’t any better at feigning than John was. He realized he liked the man. Sebastian was earthy and practical; clear spoken and a soldier to the core. In the short time they’d been comrades he’d earned John’s respect, John would trust Sebastian to guard his back, would even trust him with Sherlock. He supposed it was only natural that they be friends as well, just as Sherlock and James had become friends. They were brothers-in-arms now, and would be for a long time.

“You two would go right back out there this very second wouldn’t you.” breathed Jim looking astonished, “After everything that happened to you, you’re able to just shake it off and keep going!”

“Well, that’s kind of what we do.” said John defensively. He couldn’t change what had happened and agonizing over it would do nothing except make everyone suffer needlessly. He’d certainly work harder than ever to make sure to never ever repeat the experience but he wasn’t going to hang onto it, or allow it to mar the life he shared with Sherlock, and now Jim and Sebastian. He’d learned a bitter lesson. Their foes would be willing to do anything at all to win the Keep so John and Sebastian had to be willing to also do anything at all to defend it. “The Keeps are many, that’s what that asshole said. There’s more of them, and all of them want to win whatever this game is. We don’t even know what the stakes are apart from our demise or potential enslavement!”

“They said there were certain families that could track the other Keeps, they must know something about them. If it’s been written down I’m almost certain the Keep can provide it to us.” John looked at Sherlock curiously. The vampire explained, “The books that we read were all copies of stories that are in existence elsewhere. It’s able to somehow reproduce them; some of them are very ancient. There are shelves and shelves of books and scrolls we haven’t been able to decipher. I’m not really good at Coptic and Jim needs to brush up on his ancient language lack!”

“I am fluent in sixteen current languages, you only know four!” exclaimed Moriarty indignantly, “I didn’t bother with dead languages because I needed to speak to living people!”

Sebastian cut in, “What about the hammers? They said they knew where the heart -stones were. Are we vulnerable?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “The Keep is of course aware of itself in its entirety and that includes the bridge. I don’t know what the horsemen thought they were about but striking the bridge was about as fatal as stubbing a toe. It hurt and the Keep isn’t used to pain so it reacted but breaking the pillar wouldn’t have destroyed it.”

“Can we expect more creatures like those wolves? Will it be wolves every time or are there more weird creatures we need to know about?” John was practical. He hadn’t expected shape-shifters, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He vaguely recalled some of the stories he’d read as a child and was disturbed to think that perhaps some of those stories were based on a kind of truth. That was uncomfortable to consider.

Sherlock was no help, “Indeed John, there are many frights and horrors to be found in the average folk tale. I could make you a list…well…a small reference book. Jim?”

“That’s actually a good idea; we can’t assume anything based on a single incursion. There are all sorts of factors to keep in mind. Not all fights are won by battle.” John recalled that sometimes riddles needed to be answered, mazes needed to be threaded, obstacles overcome. He swallowed and felt at a disadvantage. He knew practically nothing compared to Sherlock and Jim. That needed to change. John couldn’t always wait until after the fact to become aware of his potential enemies. He’d been lucky this time, pure and simple.

“Sebastian and I need to brush up on these stories and you both need to learn to fight, we’ll fit in lessons in between everything else.” declared John, “We’re not getting caught unprepared a second time. I don’t know if you two are going to be offered up as bait every time there’s a blood moon but if you are I want to know you can defend yourself as much as possible and I want to have an idea of what we need to do beforehand. Figuring it out in the field nearly got us killed. You both are particularly vulnerable, being fast can only help you so much.” Sherlock and Jim looked petulant, their twin expressions of mutinous refusal causing John and Sebastian to burst out laughing. John took Sherlock’s hand, “What if we’re separated again? Those people have no idea what you’re really capable of, but as far as I’m concerned we can’t protect ourselves enough. The Keep didn’t want to let you into the fray, it was forced. We could all feel it; it tried to keep us out of it, it made sure we were as well prepared as we could be. I don’t think it can prevent a challenge from occurring, I think the Keep wants to protect us too. It makes sense, the longer it has us, the more it’s able to grow. I don’t think it can unless it has occupants. It just sits there, dormant. The longer we live here the stronger and more complex the Keep becomes.”

Everyone was looking at John in amazement and he shifted uncomfortably. Finally Sebastian asked, “How do you know John?” and the expression on his face was careful as well as curious.

John looked at Sherlock, “Sherlock is connected to the Keep and I’m connected to him. I can feel it. They understand one another. Sherlock doesn’t think like ordinary people and the Keep apparently isn’t anything like the other Keeps. It’s like him, both of them are different, something more than they should be.” John looked at Jim now, “It’s the same with you. You’re connected to the Keep too, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t think so. I was here for months and nothing changed, it was always the same, ice cold and dim. It didn’t start to get better until John arrived. I just assumed it was you two.” Jim’s eyes moved back and forth from Sherlock’s to John’s face, “Except this room, it changes a little bit every day.”

Sherlock looked at John, “It needed all four of us. It could only interact partially until we were four. The horsemen said we needed to be _pair-bonded_ , that’s the phrase he used. He was disgusted with the idea of two men being bonded and made particular mention of how the defenders of the past would not speak of it. For them it was _enslavement_ , for us, well, it’s perfect really.” Sherlock blushed and looked disconcerted, he still wasn’t accustomed to feeling things with such immediacy. He was simply incapable of hiding how he felt about something now and John thought it was the most charming thing he’d ever witnessed. “It wasn’t just that John and I bonded or that you and Sebastian bonded, those are different ties than the ones we’ve made reciprocally to the others.”

John looked around. He hadn’t forgotten Moriarty’s attempt to save Sherlock from the indignity he was about to suffer, nor how Sebastian had saved him from the wolf at the last moment, “We’d die for each other, all of us. We care. I doubt that the previous occupants shared the same kind of relationships with one another.”

“We can never say for certain John, we do not know what strictures were upon the previous occupants, what social factors were obstructive, we know nothing except they aren’t here anymore and we only have the words of someone who doesn’t even understand what enemy they’re fighting. No, I’m not sure we’ll ever know the story of the previous occupants, not unless the Keep has a record of it somewhere. I suppose it’s possible.”

“I should start a journal.” mused John, “I’d like to keep track of all our little adventures. If it’s as you say, we could be here for centuries and centuries. Imagine all the things we could get up to, you know, all those roads are still there so whenever we want a treat or something different we can just pop out and pop right back.”

“We’ll need to brush up on so much, it’s good that we have forever.” said Sherlock who was looking over Jim’s library with interest. “I don’t think time works in a linear fashion in this place. I think the Keeps are all outside of time, that’s why the weaponry is so diverse. We will face foes from all time periods and eras. There are a million blood moons to live through.”

“Do you really think so?” John wondered what it would feel like to live as a warrior forever, always defending the Keep from invasion. He realized he looked forward to it. He’d stop anyone who tried to take the Keep and remove John from Sherlock. Whatever happened in their strange future John would never allow himself to be separated from Sherlock, it just couldn’t happen. Even if he had to venture into the normal world John would always return as quickly as he could so he could be reunited with his love.

“I do John; I don’t think we’re rooted in the present that we knew. I think we disconnected when you said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.” John looked over at Sherlock whose expression was filled with surprise, “I _feel_ we are no longer connected. I… _the Keep is letting me feel the difference_. Oh.”

Sherlock’s eyes glazed over for a second, fluttering closed before opening wide. Jim gasped and clutched at Sebastian’s arm just as Sherlock did the same to John, “Oh god….can you feel it?” Jim’s high sweet voice was shocked. He was looking at Sherlock who looked back at him, “Can you?”

“I can. It’s _massive_. I…John…we can _feel_ the Keep! It’s so large and so small at the same time.” Sherlock’s eyes closed again and John held his hand as the taller man communicated with the structure around them. John gaped at his lover before looking at the other pair. Sebastian looked concerned, holding Jim’s hand tightly as the smaller man sat with a small smile on his face, “It likes us.”

Moriarty sounded gleeful, “It doesn’t just _need us_ , it actually _likes_ us!” the vampires both looked beatific, pleased with whatever they were sharing with the Keep, “It’s old, so very old.”

“It’s had lots of champions over its existence; none have lasted for long.” reported Sherlock, “At least, not long as the Keep views time. It hopes for more from us.”

Jim opened his eyes and smiled up at Sebastian, “It too hopes for eternity.”

Sebastian smiled back, “Well I’m willing to give it a shot if you are babe.”

John and Sebastian felt the surge at the same time, a stony brush against their mind as an alien awareness made itself clearly felt for the first time. John could feel the antiquity; feel the millennium that this Keep had existed in rarely disturbed solitude. It was lonely and it hoped to not be any more. It didn’t seem to have desires as John understood them but there was a sentience that was unmistakeable. It was trying so hard to bridge the gap between them, learning as much as it could so it would be someday be able to communicate clearly with the residents of its vastness. The deal it had made with Sherlock and Jim was filled with hope on all sides, a hope that seemed to becoming realized as the bonds deepened, understanding grew, and partnerships formed. The vampires would always be the conduit that tied them all to the Keep, the soldiers would always be the line of defense that kept them together, the Keep would always do everything it could to keep them safe and as content as possible.

John looked at Sherlock and his heart simply ached with the loneliness the Keep had experienced, the same loneliness it had sensed in Sherlock and Jim when they had died within minutes of one another. It had offered and they had accepted now here they all were. “I’ll never stop.” promised John and both Sherlock and the Keep understood. John was committing himself to eternity just as Sebastian and Jim had and it was the easiest promise he’d ever had to make.

As soon as he spoke the words he felt the hunger roll through Sherlock. He needed to feed properly. Jim sighed sensuously and when John looked over he could see the other vampire had been triggered as well. Sebastian was smiling down at his lover with a look of anticipation on his face. John wondered at the sense of relief he felt and he didn’t hesitate to take Sherlock’s hand so the Keep could bring them to their chamber. “My John.” whispered Sherlock. The hunger in him was vast and urgent but the vampire wasn’t lost to his instincts the way he’d always been before, “No longer John, I will be in control from now on, I shall remember from now on.” John understood yet again. Like the Keep the vampires were growing, becoming more.

Sherlock made love to John. Though the desire to feed raged through him Sherlock still took the time to allow their bodies to become ready, kneeling over John so he could sink down, this time taking John inside himself before leaning forward to drag his tongue along John’s throat, “I love you.” said the soldier as Sherlock’s teeth finally sank painlessly into his flesh. John closed his eyes and felt each drop that left him to nourish his lover and was grateful. Sherlock took only a single mouthful, savoring it before licking at John’s neck until the wound disappeared.

Sherlock was so hot, so tight inside. His heart was beating strongly again, revived with the taste of John’s blood, its rhythm ecstatic and eager. “My beautiful John.” sighed Sherlock as he began to move. “I love you my heart, I love you.” John could feel it, feel that brilliant blaze of love that shone brightly inside the vampire, so big and so endless that it spilled out from him to fill John as well. John knew Sherlock could feel the same love inside himself, a love that would grow and grow for as long as they existed. The excess spread out around them to become part of the Keep, the warmth of their mutual affections great enough to thaw the long frozen interior of their home. They could feel the Keep’s wonder and amazement. Their chamber grew warmer and brighter once again, banishing the last of the temporary darkness that had shrouded their home in the aftermath of their first battle. This was their life and it was a good one. John would never wish for another, not ever.

This time when it was over Sherlock kept kissing John until they recovered then made love to him all over again, making the soldier nearly weep with pleasure a multitude of times before allowing them to finish together. John lay gasping in Sherlock’s arms, his eyes closed as he smiled and tried to breath, “This is not a bad way to spend eternity.”

“Indeed John, I’d say we’ve found our personal heaven.” Sherlock was so open now, he wanted more caresses so he just tugged John’s hand up and stroked it over his chest until John giggled and began to move his hand on his own, “I’ll never get tired of this.”

“You didn’t have nearly enough love in your life Sherlock, not nearly enough. If we’d managed to live together instead of ending up here I’d like to think I would have reached out to you one day, shown you that you did have love, even back then.” John had no idea how much he had loved Sherlock until he knew he didn’t have him anymore. John would never have to live with that feeling again, that hopeless, ceaseless, miserable wanting.

Sherlock felt it too and drew John up so they could look at one another, “I would have let you, I wanted it too John. I didn’t know how to ask, I don’t know what I was waiting for.” Sherlock looked away, “I remember now. The roof. I remember how I felt.”

“What happened?” John didn’t want to know but he did. Wondering why Sherlock had killed himself had caused John to have more than one bad dream, “Why did you do it?”

“Jim was completely insane by the time we got to the roof of St. Bart’s. He was going to kill you, I couldn’t let that happen. He had a sniper on you and he gave me a choice, either I killed myself or I watched you die. I knew I’d never have you. I knew I loved you and I believed you did not love me in return. I was filled with hopelessness. I could not continue to live with you like that and I could not watch you die so I stepped off the roof and thought I was setting you free. Instead I’ve bound us together and I didn’t even ask if you wanted that.”

“Well you kind of did when I first got here, I said yes.” John felt a flicker of anger at Jim for forcing Sherlock to choose like that but then, that Jim was dead, as dead as the old Sherlock. They weren’t exactly the same men any longer and they never would be. “It’s okay Sherlock, I’m glad I know now. It was hard not knowing. No matter how it all happened everything worked out in a way I could never have dreamed of and I’ll never regret it. I love you Sherlock Holmes and I’ll be proud to be by your side forever. Never doubt it. I’ll fight any fight, I’ll face anything that comes at me and I’ll do it all for you. I love you.” Sherlock smiled at him and John smiled back. Cuddling together once more both men allowed themselves to grow sleepy and relaxed, their eyes closing slowly as they slipped into much needed sleep. Tomorrow would be another adventure filled with new things to learn, new experiences to have, and so would the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, and always would their love light up the darkness.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of yet another exploration into Johnlock and all it's many potentials. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading along :D

**Author's Note:**

> distantstarlight.tumblr.com is my little used Tumblr account. For those who wish to ask me anything feel free.


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